There's Only One Israel
by candy4yourEYEZ
Summary: A nation that has been missing for a few thousand years shows up again, and chaos ensues. Expecting anything else? AmericaxIsrael, FrUk, PruCan, SpaMano, SuFin, RoChu, LietPol, and a heck of a lot of other pairings. T for now...
1. Well, Here's Someone New To Mess With

France, Spain, and Prussia got on the airplane, heading straight for their seats. Sure, they had private jets, but it was much more fun to get together and annoy the shit out of humans to blow off steam before a world conference. And speaking of humans…

"Hey, Francis," Prussia tilted his head at the section of four seats in which they would be sitting. "Looks like there's gonna be another person to torment." He grinned, and while France responded in kind, Spain merely shook his head. He really didn't want to trouble the nice people on the plane, but he couldn't leave his friends alone, now could he?

They moved to their row, and closed in on their prey. Prussia took one aisle, Spain the other, and an unfortunate girl was trapped between France and Prussia. All they could see was the end of a long, brown ponytail poking out from beneath the hood of her sweatshirt, as she was currently engrossed in a book.

"Hey, kid, what's your name?" Prussia poked her, but she didn't respond. "Hello, the awesome me is gracing you with my presence, you can at least have the decency to answer my awesome question!"

The girl mumbled something that Prussia didn't quite catch.

"What? You were too quiet for the awesome me to hear," he smirked. He'd known that this chick wouldn't ignore him forever; she was melting under the force of his awesome aura!

"I said **fuck off**," she replied in a low, monotone voice. Prussia was dumbfounded. Spain was trying not to laugh, and France was eyeing her with more interest than before.

"So, _mademoiselle_, what is your destination?" France asked, hoping that a less direct approach than Prussia's would work.

"_Je suppose que nous allons au même endroit, que nous sommes sur le même avion._" She spoke flawless French, and France was also at a loss for words. Which was something that rarely happened, and Spain could not help but sneak a look at the one that had silenced both of his friends, a task previously thought impossible.

"What did she say?" Prussia leaned over her and nudged France, unable to see the annoyance in her eyes at him invading her personal space.

"She said that she would suppose she was going to the same place as us, because we are on the same airplane," France rolled his eyes. Really, how did Prussia not manage to pick up a little French after spending so much time with him?

"_Kesese_," Prussia smirked, and patted the girl on the shoulder. "You won that round, girly. Now, seeing as we're going to be stuck next to each other for the next few hours, do you wanna tell the awesome me and my slightly less awesome friends some stuff about you?"

"How about you go shove your face in the toilet and flush it," the brunette replied. "It can't make it look any worse." The small chuckles Spain was emitting were not helping the situation, Prussia decided.

"You haven't even seen my face yet, so how can you say it's unawesome?" Prussia leaned in close, and flipped her hood off. She turned her head and met his glare full on.

Prussia hadn't been expecting her to look so… hot? Even though he was currently with Canada, that didn't mean he couldn't give others the praise they deserved. And she deserved it, all right. She had naturally tanned golden-brown skin, long brownish-black hair that was lightened in some places where it was streaked by the sun, and her light brown eyes- amber, almost, that were flecked with gold were framed by long eyelashes. Her full pink lips were set under a strong nose, and pursed in irritation, and her heavy brows- though not nearly as bad as England's- were drawn over her huge eyes.

To sum it all up, she was pretty. Pretty pissed off, that is.

"Will you please leave me alone," she snapped, though keeping her voice low so they wouldn't attract attention. "I would like to read, and not have my flight ruined by obnoxious albinos such as yourself."

"Oh, so kitty has claws," Prussia was happy. This would be a very fun airplane ride.

"Gilbert, Francis," Spain turned away from the aisle, where he had been watching the little kids in the row next to them, "you heard her. She wants to be left alone." He beamed, and the girl gave a small smile in return, her eyes thanking him.

"Fine, just after one more question." Prussia poked her again so she would look at him, and she glared at the albino with the fires of hell burning in her eyes. "What's your name, girly?"

"Why should I tell you?" She looked back down at her book, and flipped the page. "Now, kindly leave me alone."

"What letter does it start with? I bet I can guess it. M?" Prussia was obviously not giving up anytime soon.

"No." She turned the next page.

"C?" They were getting weird looks.

"That's closer." She ripped the page a little by gripping it too hard.

"A?" Prussia heaved an impatient breath when she didn't answer right away.

"Bingo, idiot." Cue eye roll.

"… Amelia? Amber? Alicia?" There was no way the awesome Prussia could fail to guess her name.

"No, no, and **no**. Will you leave me alone now?" She tapped her fingernails impatiently against the page she was currently reading.

"_Ma chere_, Gilbert will not leave you alone until he knows what he wants, so I suggest you tell him your name so he shuts up sooner rather than later." France's face was perfectly straight, and behind him, Spain nodded in confirmation.

"Fine. My name is Amiel. Happy? Now leave. Me. Alone." She pulled her hood back up, slouched into her seat, and buried her nose in the book once more.

"What if the awesome me doesn't want to?" Prussia was sure that she wouldn't have a comeback, but then again, he had a habit of underestimating people.

"Then I will call a flight attendant over and inform her that I am being sexually harassed. I'm pretty sure that's not going to make the other people at your meeting very happy, if you're held in airport custody." Prussia had been shocked into silence more in the few minutes he knew Amiel than he could remember his entire life.

"Wait…" Spain cocked his head quizzically. "How did you know we were going to a meeting?"

"It was pretty obvious." Next page. "You were talking about it in the gate when we were waiting to board, and Francis was flipping through papers dealing with some world issues." Next page.

Cue the stunned silence.

"… You're really smart, _ma chere_," France beamed and put a hand on her shoulder. Amiel immediately stiffened and glared up at him, disliking the personal contact. When the not-so-subtle-death-look didn't work, she raised her left hand to brush him off, but he grabbed her wrist. "_Qu'est ce que c'est_?" He rotated her hand, eyes focused on the fourth finger.

Where, surprisingly, a ring was located. "It's a ring, dumbass," she tried to pull her hand away but to no avail. France pulled the ring off her finger, and Amiel immediately freaked out, trying to get it back. "Give me my ring, you jackass," she sounded slightly panicked.

"Ahh, what is it that is written inside?" France peered more closely at the wedding ring- for it must be a wedding ring, _non_? It was on the correct finger. "…" He looked at Amiel, for the first time thinking that the girl may be more than she seemed. "It seems that you have some explaining to do, Amiel. If that is even your name…"

"Give me my ring back." Her voice was icy, and Prussia and Spain were now extremely confused.

"Wait, what was on the ring? Tell the awesome me what's happening!" Prussia poked France, and France looked up.

"I couldn't read all of it, it was in Hebrew, but there was one word written that I could understand. Rome. And in his own language." France turned so he was facing the mystery sitting next to him, and Spain leaned over as well.

"It was ancient Hebrew, that's why you couldn't read it, you idiot. If you could I'd be extremely impressed. Although France has it's fair share of Jews, I'm guessing that the nation as a whole does not speak the language?" She looked up at France, a cat-like expression on her face. She knew, but wasn't telling them outright.

"Wait… _chica_… You know?" Spain's eyebrows rose, and his smile turned into a confused one. "But how can you know?"

"The ring said נכס של רומא," she closed her eyes. "In English, it means: Property of Rome. He carved it in there in my language, and in his. Self-glorifying bastard." But her voice held a fond tone in it as well, as if she wasn't insulting him, but simply listing one of his more obvious traits. "If you aren't complete idiots, you should be able to put all the clues together. I'm betting on France to get it first."

Which, unsurprisingly, he did.

"Are you… No you can't be…" He made a noise of annoyance, and nudged the girl. "You're-"

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

I have attempted the impossible. A multi-chapter fic that's centered around an OC. Kill me now, before I let this project take over my life ^^ Well, I was sort of annoyed that there is no Israel in Hetalia, so I made this. I'll be pretty historically accurate (Israel and Rome do have a HUGE history together), but if I mess up, don't hesitate to tell me. Just don't try to bitch me out about Jewish customs, because I'm Jewish myself. :P (but I'll admit, I had to use Google translator for the 'Property of Rome' part, because my Hebrew knowledge is mostly prayers) And if you haven't figured out who Amiel is yet, here's a hint. LOOK AT THE TITLE

SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER *is shot * but I had to end it somewhere! Alright, before I forget, here are translations. (I try to explain them in the story, but there are some I didn't get to.)

_Ma chere- _my dear

_Qu'est ce que c'est- _what is this?

Less than three. Less than three.


	2. An Airplane Ride Better Left Unmentioned

"You're Israel…" France said softly. She- Amiel -no, Israel, grinned. The type of grin that would be described as… well, shit-eating.

"Bingo, pretty boy. Now ring. Back. Or your face will soon be meeting with my fist. I have a feeling that they won't get along too well." Israel held out her hand, and France dropped the ring into her palm. She slid it back on her finger- the one on which you would normally put a wedding ring.

"But, wait…" Prussia was obviously confused. "Israel's only been around for, what, sixty years? So why do you have a ring from Rome?"

"I wasn't always Israel," Israel faked a yawn and stretched. "And if you're going to try to get me to the next world conference, which you three are obviously headed for, you're out of luck. I've managed to stay out of that shit for long enough, I don't want to have to deal with it now."

"But why? The world meetings are fun! Oh! And you can meet _mi querido_ Lovi! He's so funny, even though he looks like a tomato, and he hits people a lot and threatens them with his-" Israel leaned over France- in retrospect, probably not the smartest move- to slap her hand across Spain's mouth before he could say the word 'mafia' on a crowded airplane.

"Just because you think no one can hear you doesn't mean that no one is listening." She gave Spain a warning glance, which he returned with a grin; then moved back to her own seat. "And France, please remove your hand from my leg or I may have to bite it off." France, however, did not, because it is a commonly known fact that the French don't realize when something is not a good idea if they want to live to see the next sunrise. "I'm warning you, France…"

"You may call me Francis," he moved his hand further up Israel's thigh, "and, may I ask, how did you know what Antonio was going to say? He could have been talking about a pet dog, after all."

Israel gave him a look that practically screamed **drop dead**, and slapped his hand. "I heard Rome go on and on and on about his precious grandsons, I know what their names are, and knowing Romano, it was pretty easy to predict. Now, move your hand."

"Why should he?" Prussia put his hand on her other leg. "Why should we listen to you, anyway? You're smaller than us, pretty unawesome, and not that powerful."

"Yes, but," Israel leaned towards Prussia, her lips as close as possible without actually touching his ear. "One: my two greatest allies are America, and his brother Canada… who, if I'm not mistaken, is your current lover. Two: you think Hungary was scary? I invented badass before you were even close to being born. Three: I have nukes, bitch. Now get your hand off my leg." She pulled away and crossed her arms, and within the next few seconds, the annoyance that was Prussia's hand was gone.

"Francis, I really think you should move your hand, Amiel looks sort of angry…" Spain was too nice to his friends, Israel reflected. He gave them too much leeway.

"This is the last warning I'm going to give you," Israel notified France, who simply grinned at the veiled threat.

"Ouch, _merde, merde!_ Let go!" France's cries were muffled by the sound of the engine as the plane finally took off, and the flight attendants didn't see Israel bending France's hand back the wrong way. "I'm sorry, just let go! _Merde_!" He shook his hand out, looking rather displeased.

"Can't say I didn't warn you." Israel leaned down, pulled her backpack out of the foot-well, and unzipped a small pocket to get out a pack of gum. "Gum, anyone?"

"Sure!" Spain grabbed the piece he was offered, whilst France and Prussia were wondering why she was being so nice to them now.

"A bit of advice, boys." One corner of Israel's mouth tilted up into a lopsided smile. "Live in the present. Don't let what happened in the past affect you overly, because however much it hurt then, it's over with now. And if you can't let go, then don't let it control you. Running away doesn't work either, the world always catches up to you."

"Like we caught you now?" Prussia meant for it to be a joke, but was shocked- yet again; this was almost becoming a habit- when Israel nodded.

"I ran away, and managed it for a few thousand years, but I'm caught again. It really wouldn't work for me to refuse going to the conference, I bet someone would go to the trouble to track me down anyway. If my peace is shattered, I may as well grind the bits into dust." She grinned, showing teeth that looked suspiciously like they had previously been sharpened to points- Prussia would know, he'd done the same in his days of blood and conquerors-.

"And once I see America, I'm going to give him a good beating. That idiot. I can't wait to see what he's like in person." She scowled, and suddenly France and Prussia were feeling a lot warmer towards her. Now, Spain, anyone that knew his Lovi, or knew someone that knew his Lovi, or liked tomatoes, or made good food- no, wait, rambling now, go back to Lovi, - was fine with him. Which explained the huge smile he'd been wearing since they met.

"Well, we are obviously going to America for the conference, but why are you on this flight?" France, always the one to pry into other's business, awaited an answer he was not sure would come. The Bad Touch Trio had been at France's house to celebrate… well, nothing really, just to reminisce about old times and get drunk without angry lovers breathing down their necks. But why was Israel in France?

"I'm on a mission," Israel said, matter of factly. Wait.., a mission? On who's orders? Spain didn't realize that he'd said that out loud until Israel replied with, "Well, obviously, I can't talk about it. I probably shouldn't have even told you that I was on a mission in the first place. Although one of you is somewhat pathetic in matters of warfare, the other dead, and the third about as dense as they come."

France was not amused, Prussia grinned ("I'm so awesome that death couldn't handle my sheer awesomeness"), and Spain just looked sort of confused.

"But you're a nation," Prussia whispered. He was, actually, capable of being subtle, no matter what the normal opinion of his bold, brash ways was. He knew when to shut up- most of the time, what to say- not that he paid heed to that, and what not to say- which he said anyway, because angry people were amusing.

"Use your brain," Israel flicked his forehead with a force he was sure would leave a mark later on. Prussia could almost feel the bruise forming now… "Yes, smart one, I'm a nation. But I've been hiding. I had to have some way to make money to buy food and live and stuff like that. There's not enough unpopulated or unpatrolled desert for me to live there like I used to. So, I decided to put my various talents to use. I'm working for some people," here, Israel's voice dropped to an almost inaudible volume, even though the other passengers were watching out the windows as the airport dropped away and they sailed into the cobalt sky. "I'm a 'child genius' that's working in the intelligence section. After living through other empire's demises, revolts, wars, and a hell of a lot more, I can pick out the patterns that show something's going to happen. The others think that I'm an orphan with an amazingly high IQ, and a strong sense of patriotism. Not too far off the bat, technically."

"So, what do you do besides finding patterns?" Spain asked, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. Even though he was sort of thick when it came to reading the atmosphere, etc, even he was picking up on the subtle hints Israel was leaving, hints that she was more than she seemed.

"Well, after a while," _there's another one_, Spain noted, "you learn a bit about things you might not necessarily want to know. If I can take over some of the jobs for my government rather than have my people that can get hurt and die do the jobs, it's worth flying all over. Even if it is a pain to have weapons deposits in all these countries."

"… You're an… assassin?" Prussia was turning the idea around in his head. Yes, he could definitely see Israel in black leather with guns, knifes, and those nun-chuck thingies that Korea claimed he invented. Damn, this chick was getting cooler by the minute!

"I guess you could put it like that." Israel held up a hand to stop what would inevitably be a flow of questions from Prussia (What weapons do you use? Were you behind any of America's president's assassinations? Do you have an awesome kick-ass spy outfit?). "We're on a plane,_ meshugenah_."

"… Does the awesome me want to know?"

"If you need to ask…"

The rest of the flight was rather calm, except for a few occasions. Such as:

Israel and Prussia dumping their complementary pretzels in France's seat, and then covering it with his coat when he went to the bathroom (which resulted in a very angry France, and a horrified mother covering the ears of her child in the row in front, as France did not mince words when his glorious fashion was ruined).

France, Prussia, Israel, and Spain making remarks on people's clothes, hair, shoes, and looks in general like they were teenaged girls (when one woman that looked suspiciously like the very definition of a trophy wife heard their scathing commentary on her choice of a leopard skin dress, she was almost ready to slap them. The Trio figured they had Israel's patented smile-of–ice-that–threatens–of–bad–things-to-come to thank that they didn't have any more marks on their faces).

Spain falling asleep and sprawling halfway out into the aisle (end result: a blonde in her 20's spent too much time looking at his face and not where his feet were, and found herself facedown in the aisle, much to the hilarity of the other three in the section).

Israel sleep-biting France when he tried to poke her face when she was taking a nap (France's finger was bleeding, and he tried to explain it away as a bad paper cut, but the flight attendant saw right through it).

And, speaking of flight attendants… France and Prussia, making bets on the color of underwear the different women were wearing. Only to be told off by a very irritated Israel when they tried to guess her own (when Spain woke up, he wondered how France and Prussia had managed to get identical cherry red slap marks on their face).

Finally, to the relief of all the flight attendants, the passengers seated near them, and basically everyone except for an aspiring novelist who was using their shenanigans as creative fodder, the Bad Touch Trio (plus Israel) got off the plane.

Israel walked in between France and Spain (Prussia led the way, he had come to America with Canada multiple times, like when Canada decided a hamburger intervention was needed (but that's a story for a whole other time)), and the four headed to the baggage claim, bickering all the way. Israel only had once suitcase of clothes, along with her backpack, she informed them, that was basically everything she had/needed. France was, of course, shocked, and resolved to take her shopping as soon as they were settled into the hotel, a revelation at which Israel groaned, rolled her eyes, and mumbled something about not needing the heaps of clothes that the Frenchman was sure to bestow upon her, and the stupidity of Frenchmen in general.

And as the quartet walked to the rental car, Israel calling shotgun ("There is no way I am sitting between Francis and Gilbert again, not unless you want another war breaking out!" "But _ma chere_, I was simply trying to teach you about _l'amour_~" "Francis, I've been around longer than you have. I think I know a bit more about love than you do. And if your hand doesn't move from my back pocket, I will cut it off. And then feed it to you, after it's been roasted by England."), she came to a decision.

_Maybe these men aren't the best possible company, but they accept me. __**For now**_, the nasty voice in her head popped up again. _I'll stick with them, and if things go bad… well, I can hide from things pretty damn well. But if I get to the world conference and it's full of stuck up bastards_… And she was off again into her mental deliberation of which gun would deal most effectively with shutting said bastards up.

But she had decided to stay, and her companions noticed it, welcoming her into the family. Figuratively, of course, because if all the nations were a family... That's dysfunctional at its finest.

When they arrived at the hotel, everyone was sporting some new bruises.

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

Alright, I'll address some things here:

1: Yes, I know that Amiel can be a boy's name ^^ In my head, Israel chose her name herself, and she liked that one. She's a huge tomboy (she didn't think she was a boy, just hated acting like a girl), and she doesn't give a crap what other people think about her. I also chose it for the meaning.

2: Israel isn't abusive, what with all the times she hits France, Spain, and Prussia. Like how Romano has a foul mouth, she tends to hit people. But only when they deserve it. She doesn't know her own strength sometimes ^^ (Oh yeah, when she calls Prussia a _meshugenah_… It basically means crazy person in Yiddish)

3: Yay, they get to go shopping~! I think I enjoy putting my characters in awkward situations… (Just imagine France in a women's clothing store… Nuff said)

4: Thanks for the reviews and story alerts! I really didn't think a lot of other people would like Israel… But she is pretty kickass,_ non_?

Less than three. Less than three.


	3. Suites, Showers, And Scars

Finally, Israel mumbled that sure, she'd stay and go to the dumb meeting, and after fighting off hugs from Spain ("KEEP YOUR FUCKING EYES ON THE ROAD, YOU'RE THE DRIVER HERE! DO YOU WANT US TO CRASH AND DIE?") the quartet finally arrived at the hotel that America had booked for the nations staying for the world conference. It was late at night, and Israel had been, in truth, a little worried that Spain might doze off at the wheel.

They were some of the last to get there, and they unloaded their luggage- France had the most, unsurprisingly- out of the suburban Prussia had rented (with the amount of bar fights he got into, he needed a sturdy getaway car when he came to America.) and walked into the lobby. France headed straight for the front desk; America had told them earlier that he'd already made room arrangements and to ask the nice people where they were supposed to sleep.

"Oh, that's nice," Prussia noted sarcastically, as America had been his usual clueless self when picking rooms. "Well, he put the Asians in two connecting suites… Thank Fritz he actually remembered not to put Greece and Turkey together, though. They each got single rooms." He went down the list, occasionally muttering things like "Luddy's with his boy toy and boy toy's _bruder_… Gonna hear some gunshots outta that room…" and "Specs is with Liza, that crazy bitch."

"Yes_, mon ami_," France sighed; he wanted to get to the room and sleep already. "But where are we?" Prussia stuck his tongue out, and Spain apologized quietly to the woman on desk duty about his friends' behavior.

"We're all in one room," Prussia laughed. "Guess no one else wanted to share. I'm not surprised that he put Birdie in a room by himself though… Guess I'll have to visit him so he won't get lonely…" Walking off towards the elevators (they were on floor number twelve), Spain chastised him.

"Alfred probably split you two up for a reason, Gil. You need to be awake for the meeting." Spain just smiled indulgently when Prussia muttered something about needing to unwind after the airplane flight. "Wait… Amiel?" He turned to Israel, who was still standing near the front desk. "Come on, _perezosa_! You're going to miss the elevator!"

"But I don't have a room…" Israel said slowly, like Spain was an idiot who never actually comprehended anything. Not saying that he wasn't, or anything, but still…

"Of course you don't, _tonta_! It's not like Alfred knew you were coming! He doesn't have special senses or anything! Come on!" Spain grinned, walking back to Israel and grabbing her hand to pull her to the elevator.

She moved so fast that not even Prussia, who lived for battle, saw it coming. If someone later replayed the security cameras in slow motion, they would see Israel dropping her bag like a hot iron, grabbing Spain's wrist, and stepping backwards then twisting around, using Spain's sudden loss of balance as an opportunity to jerk him forwards, back almost touching his chest, wrap her other hand around his forearm (which was situated behind her shoulder), and use the leverage to flip him over said shoulder. However, all France and Prussia (but not the receptionist; she was doing her nails) saw was a flash of gray (Israel's sweatshirt and sweatpants) and all the sudden, Spain was flat on his back on the tiled floor, with Israel leaning over him, a wild look in her eyes.

"Whoa, girl, let Tony go! He didn't do anything unawesome!" Prussia's eyebrows were raised; he knew that to get reflexes like that, Israel must have had to go through some pretty tough shit. "Now, that's someone worth fighting," he whispered to himself.

"Sorry, Antonio." Israel used the grip she still had on his wrist to pull him back up, grimacing. "Battle instincts." She handed him his suitcase, looking slightly ashamed, as Spain was rubbing his head where it hit the floor.

"It's fine Amiel, no blood no foul!" Spain smiled, turned to walk towards the elevators again, and continued with what he was saying earlier. "You can stay in the room with Francis, Gilbert and me until Alfred gets around to finding you somewhere else to stay!"

"… Thanks," Israel followed him, quirking one corner of her mouth up in a slight smirk. Not really a smile, because it was a little too bitter.

"_De nada_!" Spain almost skipped to the nearest open elevator, holding it open so his other friends could get in. Prussia was stuck in the back left corner, suitcases all around him ("My awesomeness cannot be contained like this! This is so unfair! _Fick_!"), Spain was standing pressed against the right wall with the button panel in front of him ("We were floor _doce, si_?"), and Francis had his back to the left wall ("There is a handrail pressing into my _derriere_."). Israel was stuck in the middle, surrounded on all sides by luggage. ("Francis, I will castrate you if your hand does not move **right now**.")

"We're here~!" Spain trilled as the door opened and the four of them and their belongings spilled out into the ornately decorated hallway. "Alright, we have to go to the left to get to our room. I wonder if Lovi is on this floor? Maybe he is, and then we can all go out for dinner and eat something with tomatoes, you like tomatoes, right Amiel? Well, everyone loves tomatoes, so that's a pretty silly thing to ask. Do you have a favorite food of yours? Mine is tomatoes, they're really delicious, and Lovi likes them too." This monologue lasted until Spain unlocked the door, and they filed into the suite.

"I CALL THE BIG BED FOR MYSELF!" Prussia jumped onto one of the king beds, flopping spread-eagled onto the soft duvet. He sank into the mattress, red eyes promising hell to anyone who dared remove him from his territory.

"Then I guess the other bed is mine, _non_?" France sat down on the second bed, setting one of his suitcases on the provided luggage stand, and walking to the closet to see if there were any more to hold the rest of his crap.

"Fold out couch!" Spain immediately starting transforming said couch into somewhere to sleep, while Israel did the same to another couch before snatching a plastic bag from her suitcase and rushing to the bathroom.

"I get to shower first!" She shouted gleefully, closing the door and locking it just as France began to rattle the handle, begging that he needed to fix his hair. "Too bad, Francis, bathroom's mine. And I intend on taking a nice warm shower, that plane ride was terrible." Ignoring France's muttered curses, Israel started getting undressed and figuring out how the hell the shower worked.

The water started running, and she waited until it was almost scalding to step in. Israel tilted her head back, letting the warm water erase all the aches and annoyances of international travel, letting it flow over the scars she had from years past, and spots of unblemished skin, which were few and far between. She grabbed the shampoo bottle, squeezing a generous amount into her hand and scrubbing it into her hair with a surprising amount of force.

After Israel was done with her normal shower routines, she just stood there, reminiscing. Remembering back before modern plumbing; when she bathed in oases in the desert, or in the huge baths at-

"חרא!" She clutched her side, where a new, angry burn mark had appeared, along with a jagged wound. "חרא!" Israel repeated, and collapsed, head hitting the semi-open glass door of the shower as her body fell onto the cold tile floor.

* * *

"… Did you hear something?" France paused his unpacking to move closer to the bathroom door, certain that he'd heard Israel swearing. "There it is again!"

_Crack_

_Thunk_

"_Scheiße_! Amiel!" Prussia jumped off his bed too, knowing that the noise probably wasn't her dropping a shampoo bottle or something. "Amiel, what's wrong?"

Nothing was his answer. Just the sound of the shower running.

"Amiel?" Spain had joined the group by the door as well, worried as much as the rest of them. If she was alright, surely she'd be swearing at them for interrupting her shower, not just… being silent…

"Amiel, you have one second to answer, or we're breaking in," France's warning went unheeded; Prussia was already picking the lock (he didn't want yet another issue with America about breaking hotel doors down) and Israel wasn't answering.

_Click_

"We're in." Prussia's voice was grim as he slowly opened the door, and was met face on by a wall of steam. "_Fick_," he waved through the steam and made his way to the shower, France and Spain right behind him. The steam cleared, and they were met with a sight that shocked them all, for a brief second.

Israel, the tough _Israel_, the one that had hit them all at some point in the evening, who threatened Prussia with nukes, who's country was a formidable force even before they knew her; was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, bleeding from a painful injury on her side, and from a smaller cut on her head.

"Antonio, get some towels, Francis, grab the first-aid kit from my suitcase, top pocket." Prussia took charge of the situation, and his friends didn't argue. Or question why he had a first aid kit (the bar fights again. Canada got annoyed when he had to keep picking Prussia up from the hospital, so he made the albino learn how to treat his own injuries).

Spain handed Prussia one white towel, and he used it to cover Israel, to preserve at least a little of her decency.

"_Fick_," Prussia muttered, "she has a hell of a lot of scars." France came back with the first aid kit, and Prussia opened it and grabbed a small knife, cutting a slit in the towel so he could help her. He knew that there was no way she'd gotten this by falling in the shower, and he said so. "It's impossible for her to get hurt this badly in the shower. This is a country wound, and if I'm not mistaken," and he rarely was, Prussia's years of experience during battle left him able to identify how and why people were wounded extremely well; he would be an amazing crime scene investigator. "She fell from the shock of the…" he paused, trying to find a word that fit the damage. It looked like someone wearing brass knuckles that were on fire had punched her! "The injury, and then hit her head on the door, that's what the scalp laceration is from. Since this is a wound from her country, there's not much we can do. We can bandage it, but she'll probably bleed through in a little while…"

"We can fold a towel and put it over it, then bandage her." Spain's suggestion was met by a grim smile from Prussia, and an expectant hand. He placed the towel and roll of bandages in the albino's palm, happy that the knowledge from his matador days had paid off. "Lovi did that for me the one time I was gored by the bull."

Prussia did as Spain had suggested, glaring at France (who tried to sneak a look) when he removed the towel to wrap the bandage. Really, did the pervert have no limits?

"I'll get her clothes," Spain was still somber, although he knew that in a little while, Israel would be up and as violent as usual. He walked over to the counter, where she'd thrown her stuff, including a long green t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts.

"You put 'em on, Tony. She'd kill us when she woke up if she knew we dressed her. You're a good boy, you won't get in trouble. Francis and I will work on her head wound." Prussia smirked and received a nod from Spain, then grabbed antiseptic and a butterfly bandage from France.

He went to work cleaning the incision, then parted Israel's hair around it before sticking on the butterfly bandage, hoping that when it came off it wouldn't take too much of her hair with it. Spain interrupted him to slide Israel's shirt on, and then the three of them sat back and viewed their handiwork.

"What do you think happened to _notre amie_?" France pursed his lips, obviously concerned about the prickly girl.

"It's Israel," Spain replied like it was obvious. "You can't be who she is,_ where_ she is, without making some enemies. And judging by the burn marks around the wound, I'd say it was another bombing." With that, he bent over and picked Israel up, cradling her like a child and walking out of the bathroom and over to the beds. Prussia gave his consent, and Spain set her on his bed.

Now, all they had to do was wait.

* * *

Israel woke to find France, Spain, and Prussia watching her and talking quietly.

"Why are you looking at me?" She tried to sit up, but then decided not to after she felt the pain in her side. "And what happened?" Israel pulled the hem of her shirt up, revealing the bandages. "Wait…" her memory came back; the pain, then the swift sensation of falling, then the cool floor before she drifted off into darkness. "There was a bombing, and then I fell and…" She looked down again, saw that she was clothed and bandaged, and immediately realized what had happened. "Fuck!" Israel grabbed a pillow and held it over her now burning face, muttering swears and curses in every language she knew.

"Wow, even _I_ don't know some of those! You've got quite the awesome mouth, kid." Prussia joked, only to get another pillow thrown at him.

"You saw me…" Israel's voice was barely audible, and France placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, only to have it violently shaken off. "You saw me." She repeated.

"It is alright, _ma chere_," France consoled. "It shows that you've been through suffering, and are all the more beautiful for it. It shows that you are strong."

"No." The bitterness in Israel's voice surprised the three sitting by her bedside. "It doesn't show any of that. All the scars, all the burns, all the bombings… If I was strong like you think I am, I could have avoided so many of those. And I keep getting more, why do you think I was wearing that huge fucking sweatshirt on the plane today? People would have thought I was an abuse victim or something, would have looked at me, would have _pitied_ me."

"Kid, we all have scars. Every nation has them. Hell, even humans all have scars! You've been around longer, so it's only natural that you have a few more marks than the rest of us." Prussia looked at his own arms, the lines from swords and maces and axes almost faded, but still there.

"A few more marks." Israel's voice was monotone now, with no emotion at all. "A few more marks." Rage had started to seep into it, centuries of repressed fury. "I have scars from millennia before you were born; burns from the First and the Second temple, huge cuts when I was invaded, divided, conquered, gashes from the Crusades. I have a fucking **swastika** carved into my back," she hissed with venom, "courtesy of _your fucking __brother_."

"Amiel," Spain interjected, "it's not fair to yell at us for not knowing what happened to you. Maybe if you told us a little of your history, we'd understand more. You've been dropping hints, and not really giving us anything to learn about you. I'd like to know you better, but if you insist on keeping secrets, we won't be able to help you."

"… Fine." Israel grumbled, and removed the pillow from her face. "But if you want to know my history, I'm going to need a much higher alcohol level in my bloodstream. There's no way I'm re-hashing all of that sober."

"Can you even legally drink?" Spain looked worried; France, however, was already looking at the different wines the hotel offered.

"Does that really matter?" Israel scowled at Prussia, who had adopted the kicked puppy expression. "I'm not apologizing, you know. I guess I have to thank you for not letting me bleed out, but I'm not apologizing for yelling at you, Gilbert."

"Fine." Prussia sighed dramatically. "The awesome me will go out with Francis and get some booze that's not ridiculously priced. Tony, try to calm her down some."

"_Allons-y_!" France grabbed Prussia's arm, and the two of them almost ran out of the room.

"… They forgot the room's key card."

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

First off, I'M SORRY. I wasn't originally going to split this into two chapters, but it's 2 am here, and I really wanted to post what I had… *cries* To make it up, I'll have the next chapter posted tomorrow ^^ And I know this was really sort of angsty… *sad face for making Israel suffer*

And here're the translations… I'm only putting up things that you probably don't know (for example, any self-respecting Hetalia fan knows that _mon ami_ is 'my friend' in French, and that _bruder_ is 'brother' in German. If you just said: wow, I didn't know that… Then there's a Chuck Norris Roundhouse Kick coming your way)(crap I used a lot of different languages in this…)

FRENCH

_Derriere-_ France means his ass. He does have a nice one.

_notre amie- _ Our friend

_ma chere- _My dear

_Allons-y!_- Let's go!

SPANISH

_Perezoso- _ lazy

_tonta- _silly

_doce- _twelve

_de nada_- it's nothing

GERMAN

_Fick_- fuck

_Scheiße_- shit

HEBREW

חרא_- _… it's supposed to be shit, but I don't know, because I used an online translator because my lovely Hebrew translator buddy was offline when I asked her… *whimpers* I'm sorry if it's wrong

Less than three. Less than three.


	4. 3 Bottles O Vodka Would Kill Anyone Else

"They left the room's key card…" Spain shook his head at his friends; they called _him_ the dumb one! Speaking of friends… "Amiel…" Israel turned her head to look at him, gold flecks in her irises glowing in the lamplight.

"What?" She quirked an eyebrow, and Spain found himself wondering, if she was as old as the hints she was dropping said she was, as old as he thought she was… How many other people had done this for her? Had bandaged her up after an injury, and stayed by her side until she recovered? Had it even been friends that would have done that, or did she have soldiers who felt it was their duty? Servants? And what about the past few decades? She said that she'd been in hiding, but if this happened every time there was a bombing... how did she deal with it?

"How-" he started to ask, but lost nerve. "How well do you think you can sit up? Because we can set up pillows to support your back."

"Oh really." Israel suddenly smiled, and sat up herself. "I heal fast, don't worry about me. I took care of myself all the years I was in hiding, either that or I'd purposely get involved in a fight and claim my injuries were due to that when we got to the hospital." _Shit,_ Spain thought. _she knew_. She scoffed at Spain's incredulous look, scoffed and rolled her eyes. "People pick on my people all the time. I get myself involved and give the one of mine an chance to get away, and whale on the people who thought it would be fun to mess with a Jew. By the time police show up to break it up, I've normally broken a few limbs (maybe skulls) and can say my previous injuries were ones I got in the fight. Even though humans fight so pathetically, there's no way I'd actually get injured by them."

"But isn't that dangerous?" Spain worried like a mother hen, Israel reflected. Romano had to get credit for putting up with him. And she thought that maybe he wasn't as dense as it seemed, he was just better at reading girls than men. He'd picked up on her hints; she'd seen it in his eyes.

"They said it was dangerous to make the Promised Land a reality in the middle of the desert, surrounded by those who hate us. We did it anyway." Israel reached over and patted Spain on the shoulder. "Don't be worried about me, Antonio, I can take care of myself. I may look 15 and younger than you, but I'm the oldest nation alive. _I_ should be the one fussing over _you_, technically, but it makes me feel too… old."

"Alright then, we'll have a deal." Spain held out his hand. "I don't fuss over you, and you don't fuss over me. _¿Estás de acuerdo?_"

"Sure." Israel shook the offered hand, and they both jumped as France and Prussia started slamming against the door.

"I'll go let them in," Spain rose from the side of the bed and walked over to the door, opening it and almost getting crushed by France and Prussia, laden down with bags of alcohol.

"That was fast," Israel remarked. "What'd you do, run to the nearest grocery store and shove everything in the aisle in your cart?" France rolled his eyes; he had more class then that!

"Can you even drink alcohol, Ami?" Prussia was unloading bottles of vodka onto the bed.

"First of all, don't call me Ami. Second, yes, I can. I was drinking since before you were born, idiot. Third… this vodka is really expensive," she turned the bottle she'd grabbed over to check the price. "In the part of Israel where I lived, you could by vodka for the same price as bottled water."

"…" Prussia stared at Israel with something akin to hero-worship in his eyes. "I love your country." He walked over to the bedside table and dragged it over, placing German beer on top of it. "Hey, Francis, Tony, let's shove the two beds together, and we can all sit on 'em. I don't think it's a good idea to be on chairs way off the ground when some of us are planning on not staying the least bit sober."

"It's a fair point," France acknowledged, going to the side of the far bed with Prussia and shoving it so there was one huge mess of mattresses and pillows and blankets that they then jumped onto (looking somewhat like this: |_||_| ).Israel was moved to the inside of the bed on the right, Prussia sprawled out on the left bed, Spain lay across the foot of both of them, and France (who, in all honesty, needed to be sober enough to make his friends a hangover remedy the next morning) was sitting on the bed with Israel.

"After a few thousand years, my alcohol tolerance is pretty high," Israel opened one of the vodka bottles and drank about half of it. "But this says it's about 90% alcohol, so I should be able to down a bottle or three and get on with it."

After three empty vodka bottles and two of wine, Israel decided that she was un-sober ("Not drunk, because I don't get drunk. I'm just not really that sober.") enough to start talking.

"I wasn't always Israel, you know. In the years I've been alive, I've had a lot of names, ones that I don't use anymore, or that died with the ones that ruled me. The Promised Land, Kingdom of Israel, The Northern Kingdom, Kingdom of Judah, Canaan, Judea, and now just plain Israel. I first became, well, really_ me_ when Abraham was promised my land for his descendants. Before that, I was there, I was alive, but I didn't really know who I was. I'd never met another nation-being, and I knew enough of humans to realize that I wasn't like them. I hid out in the wilderness, fending for myself. When I was first promised, when God said that I would be a place for the children of Abraham, I realized. I felt that I was part of something bigger, part of a hope that would last for centuries. Of course, at the time, I didn't know what to call that feeling. I just decided that someone needed me, so I was supposed to stay alive until they got here.

I lived like that for quite a while, hiding wherever I could. Eventually, I found a nice little patch of desert with a nearby oasis, dug my way into a sand dune, and made my home there. My life didn't change much over the first few hundred years, I grew older, until I looked about eighteen in human years-" Israel held up a finger to Prussia, who looked like he was going to interrupt her. "Shh. I'll explain why I look so young now later. Now… where was I…

Well, first you need to understand that even though I'm a nation, I'm not exactly like you. Like any other one out there. I was the Jewish homeland, so wherever Jews were, what they went through, I went through. I wasn't just affected by the battles going on in my country, no, I have scars from revolutions in Egypt, pilgrims in America. I'm linked to my people in a way that none of the other nations are.

So, I was eighteen in human years, in the first century BCE, when Rome first meddled. He- Marcus- conquered my land, first making me one of his tributary kingdoms, then a province. After that, I remained under his control for about 1,500 years, 1,500 years of putting up with that bastard." As it had when she spoke on the plane, her voice was fond with a hint of pride, not angry.  
"He found where I was soon enough after he invaded, but it was by accident. Him and some of his soldiers had managed to get lost, and he went out walking one night when he decided to flop down on the one sand dune that I was living under, and it collapsed. I got out of it, but when I did, he was waiting. He chased me all the way to my oasis- he had realized who I was, why there was a girl living in the middle of the desert- but I couldn't hide. The bastard caught me and I refused to give up; I would fight as long as my people were fighting. So you know what he did? The jackass tied me to a tree and said that he'd sit there until I gave up." Israel paused.

"And?" France was interested; he could tell that there was something of a complicated relationship between Rome and Israel. In the name of _l'amour_, he must find out!

"And I tried to get loose, but I accidentally toppled the tree over. After Rome realized that there was no way in hell I was giving up anytime soon, he untied me and dragged me back to his house with him anyway. Dumbass.

I never really stopped fighting, you know. I really hated him at first, and my people didn't accept being ruled. We rebelled in 66 CE, but it didn't work. Again. Four years later… they destroyed Jerusalem, and killed or enslaved most of the population." Her voice was quiet, but full of emotion. "Seventy years later we tried again. For all these revolts, I'd sneak out; I'd get back to my people. I could tell when we were going to try again, I'd make it back there, and I would kill like the rest of mine. This revolt was led by Simon bar Kokhba, and we **did** it. We made the last Kingdom of Israel… which lasted for three years before that fucking bastard conquered us for good.

But not without a good loss of men and at high expense to him. His bastard emperor Hadrian wanted to wipe out Israel, and called me Philistina. Ugly name. They killed a lot of Jews then, and even more of them scattered, went to different places where maybe they'd be safer. I was a lot larger then, and Rome had ruled different sections of my country at different times. But I- me, the human me, had never had to deal with another nation-being before Rome. I hated Rome, hated him like none other. Like no one before him, and no one after him. I wanted to put poison in his food- I tried, several times-, tried stabbing him, setting traps, putting venomous snakes in his rooms… Oh yes, in the first few years I hated him with a passion.

But something changed… Sure, my nation was a troublemaker, refusing to submit willingly, but me…

I fell in love with him. With Marcus, not Rome. Never Rome. And he ended up loving me too. He respected my ingenuity and courage, my ability to fight to the last man standing and then kill myself to avoid slavery; I, his resourcefulness and strength, his refusal to give anything up. Even me... I was his first, and he mine. But the, something changed…

In the first century BC, Julius Caesar said that us Jews were free to worship in Rome, he said it was because of us helping in Alexandria. Really, Marcus went to him and asked, said it was a good idea and that it might have us stop rebelling. He knew that however much I loved him, when the revolts- the bloodlust- came over me, he had to watch his back, because I'd be hiding with a poisoned dagger in the shadows. But 66 CE, a group overran some Roman base on Masada- a past emperor had created his own safe place there, long story, I'll tell you later- and set up a home there. A group of Jews willing to do anything to stay away from the Romans.

That corresponded to something in my life, as well…" Israel sighed, mouth getting dry after so much talking, and grabbed yet another bottle of liquor. The Bad Touch Trio marveled at their new friend's ability to hold her alcohol; she hadn't been stuttering or slurring her words at all. "Marcus was away a lot, I knew he was with other women. Did I care? Not much, I knew that either they were humans, little things that would die soon enough, or if they were other nations… They accepted him when he came around, and didn't miss him that much when he was off on some conquest or something. They weren't _like_ me. They weren't stuck in this endless cycle of love and hate with him, fighting almost to the death in the day, then falling in love all over again at night. They didn't hide in the rafters of his room to jump him with a poisoned knife when he came home, didn't hide on the rooftops of his villa to shoot at him with arrows when he crossed the courtyard, didn't keep him on his toes, keep him guessing. I knew that however much our nations hated each other, we were together for a reason.

He was away on campaign when I found out." Israel placed one hand on her stomach, voice suddenly somber. "I was pregnant. I knew it wasn't a human child, I knew it was Rome's. Rome's, not Marcus' because I could feel it. If I had the child, it would replace me, would be the Roman controlled Judea. Would show that we'd been defeated. Then, something happened." She breathed in deeply, her face suddenly going blank, and her voice completely flat. "Masada happened. The group of Jews hiding on the mountaintop were besieged by more Romans, and at the end…

They knew they couldn't win. The Romans used Jewish slaves to build ramps of earth up to the top of the mountain; the resisters couldn't kill them, for the soldiers would just get more. But they did escape, they won in the end." Israel tilted her head back, a truly frightening smile now on her face. "They drew lots. The defenders killed each other, then the one man left alive committed suicide. There were two women and five children, hiding in a cistern, that lived, but… The idea in and of itself was brilliant.

When they did that, they child inside me died. I could tell, knew that it was no longer _there_. But Marcus couldn't know, I couldn't tell him that I would have had his child… the _thing_ was gotten rid of, and he never knew of it. I got through the next centuries by Marcus' side, staying with him in Rome, except for once a year. The tenth day of Tishrei, I would go back to my land for the holiest day of the year. He wasn't worried that I would run off, after all, where would I run to that he couldn't follow? He always followed…

Those years were a mix of good and bad, those years before he died. I was there, you know." Her voice had become suddenly happier; but it was a forced cheerfulness. "I was there when he died. Next to him. The last words he said to me… He said that I had to go back to what I'd done before I met him, go and hide in the desert. He asked me not to forget him- how could I, selfish bastard thinking he was some conquering her or something- and…" the cheer was gone, and she hiccupped quietly. Spain, France, and Prussia, having sat in silence to hear her tell her story, noticed with astonishment the tears running down her face. "And," her voice was so quiet, it was barely audible. "He said that he loved me. That I was a scary little spitfire, but I was _his_ spitfire." Israel blinked, once, twice, then slowly fell backwards, eyes closing and empty bottle falling from her hand.

After a moment of silence, Prussia said, "none of this leaves the room. Agreed? She can tell others if she want to, but…" The men were sitting there, still absorbing all that Israel had gone through, and all that she was still going through.

"Agreed," France and Spain chorused. And they drank the rest of the night away, promising to help Israel, simply because she'd had no one for so long. And they **all** knew what that felt like.

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

I'm sorry that this chapter was shorter than the last one! *cowers * but, it was originally supposed to be part of the last one, I just didn't have time to type it up…

Ok, soon enough you'll find out why Israel's small nowadays (in her story, she was around 18, but now she only looks, like, 15)

By the way,_ ¿Estás de acuerdo?_ is supposed to mean: agree?

And I'm sorry about her tragic past and everything, but… *sniffs* It's ok, I almost cried when writing this. Please don't flame me for messing with history… And Israel didn't tell the Bad Touch Trio all of the story about Masada~ But you'll have to find out about that wayyyyyyyyy later in the story. Like, WAY WAY LATER.

Again, sorry for basically making this a huge monologue, but Israel's story needed to be told sooner or later. I figured sooner rather than later, so if further in the story someone says something that sets her off, you'll know why.

Reviews and story alerts make my new braces hurt less ^^

Less than three. Less than three.


	5. You Are SO Not Taking Me Bra Shopping

Israel woke up feeling claustrophobic, and with good reason. France had fallen asleep with his head and arm on her stomach; Spain was sprawled across her shins, and Prussia had a leg slung over her thighs and a hand on her arm. She slid out of the tangle of limbs, and hopped off the side of the bed. It was early; the sun hadn't risen yet. For some blessed reason, hangovers didn't affect Israel, no matter how much alcohol she drank.

For now, she peeled the dressing off her wound- it was healed already, leaving behind a new, shiny red scar. Walking over to her suitcase, Israel unzipped it and rifled through the contents to find something to wear for swimming. A nice swim in the pool ought to do her good; and if there were other nations there, they wouldn't know who she was. Israel stepped into the bathroom, slipping off her t-shirt and shorts, and put on her version of a swimming suit: green and black men's Hawaiian print bottoms, and a black bikini top. She grabbed a towel, slung it over her shoulder, and as she was leaving, grabbed the extra key card.

Yes, swimming would do her good.

* * *

France woke up, and realized first that his head was no longer pillowed on Israel's stomach. The second thing he noticed, when he sat up quickly to see where Israel had gone, was that he had one hell of a hangover.

"_Merde_," he cursed, whimpering as Prussia hit him with a pillow for talking. "Amiel's missing," France winced prematurely for the pillow attack he thought was sure to come.

"She's gone?" Prussia actually looked worried. "Do you think she sleepwalks or something?"

"Maybe she left after she told us her story last night," Spain said. "I wouldn't blame her if she thought she'd said too much and decided to go back after all she's gone through."

"WHAT?" France nearly shrieked.

"Francis…" Prussia glared at his friend. "You weren't just looking for another conquest, were you? Because that girl's been through enough shit, she doesn't need you fucking with her life."

"Calm down _amigos_, she didn't leave." Spain pointed to her open suitcase. "Her suitcase is still here, and so is her backpack. She's probably somewhere else in the hotel, having breakfast or finding another way to get rid of a hangover. What with all that vodka she had, I'm surprised she didn't have a heart attack!"

France and Prussia's hangovers had miraculously dissipated from the shock (and possibly because they were relatively small), but they took some painkillers just in case. And then, after getting dressed, showered, and presentable, went to look for Israel.

After searching through the entire hotel (which didn't take that long -about 15 minutes-, as they only needed to check the recreational places), the Bad Touch Trio gave up and went back to their room.

"I wonder where everyone is… It's only nine am here." Prussia slumped on the bed dejectedly. "Never mind, they're probably out messing around and sightseeing before the stupid conference begins. But where the hell is Amiel?"

"There was a sign for a pool on the roof," Spain was looking for his (tomato pattered) swim trunks in his bag. "She might be there."

"Why did you not say so, _mon ami_?" France rushed over to his own pile of baggage and whipped his swim wear (thankfully, Prussia and Spain had dissuaded him from bringing the Speedo).

Prussia lazily got up and reached under the bed, fiddling with something and pulling a swimsuit out of nowhere. "So let's get ready and go see if she's there."

Finally, after going up a ridiculous number of stairs and getting lost several times, France, Spain, and Prussia managed to make it up to the rooftop pool. They opened the door and looked out at the area, illuminated by pale morning sunlight… just in time to see someone back flip out of the water and land on the cement by the side of the pool.

Israel grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her torso, walking over to the three dumbstruck men who were still holding the door open. "I guess you've never seen real underwater acrobatics. Shame, because I was just going to go back to the room…" she tried to squeeze between France and Prussia, but to no avail.

"Hell no, we looked all over the hotel for you!" Prussia grabbed one arm, France the other, and they frog-marched her back to the pool. "There is no way you're ditching us now. And while we're here, we are playing one awesome game of Marco Polo."

"Fine." Israel almost flew out of their arms, scooting backwards and jumping into said pool, sending up a splash that almost soaked the other three. "Not Marco!"

"I'm too awesome to be Marco!" Prussia jumped in as well, tackling Israel and shoving her underwater. "Haha! I win!"

"Yeah right!" Israel flipped Prussia backwards in the water, only to both be bowled over by Spain when he came in.

"I'll be Marco," France leered, and slipped into the pool.

"AAH! FRANCIS IS GOING TO TOUCH ME!" Prussia yelled in fake horror, and 'hid' behind Israel. Spain, the smart one –for once- was floating in the other end of the pool, soaking up some vitamin D.

"Oh, protect yourself, dumbass," Israel rolled her eyes, only to gasp when Prussia picked her up. "Wait! Put me down! NOW! GILBERT, PUT ME DOWN!"

"How about… not yet!" Prussia smirked, and started twirling in a circle, spinning Israel over his head, only to throw her at Spain in the deep end. "HEY, TONY! HEADS UP!"

Spain opened his eyes to see a flying Israel, end immediately put out his arms to catch her. This proved to be unnecessary, as she flipped herself around mid-flight and splashed in the water, then got back up and headed straight for Prussia. "Don't kill each other, you two~!"

"Oh, I'll try not to," Israel was currently throttling Prussia, forcing him underwater, while Francis pouted in a corner, as Marco Polo was obviously abandoned.

After about an hour of horseplay and gaining bruises (mostly Prussia and Israel, involved in a battle for territory), Spain suggested that they go back to the room and get dressed, then find something to do for the rest of the day.

Once they got back to the room, dripping and laughing and shoving each other (and generally getting odd looks from the hotel staff), Israel called the bathroom to change in, and the guys just used the room.

"So, what are we doing?" Israel walked out in a huge t-shirt and jean Capri pants, much to the horror of France.

"_Ma chere_, we are taking you out shopping. There is no way I am letting you go around in such clothes! It would shame me completely, as the nation of _l'amour_ and fashion, to not get you a new wardrobe. I would do the same for _Angleterre_, but unfortunately, he has taken to using his spells to turn me into a frog when I try to fix his horrendous array of clothing." France delivered his speech with a perfectly straight face, and before she knew what was happening, Spain had picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, hooking his arms around the back of her knees.

"Antonio." Israel had refrained from hurting him- mainly because he was her friend, but also because it was still morning and she was feeling lethargic from the vodka the night before. "Please put me down now."

"But then you would run away!" Spain walked to the door with France and Prussia, and the three of them started their way to the elevators.

"I promise I won't run away, just let me walk there on my own. Otherwise I'm going to have to make you put me down." Israel was completely serious, and for once, even Spain noticed it.

"_Si, senorita_," he grinned and deposited her on the carpet. "I wouldn't try to argue with Francis, he's done the same with Gil and me."

"Yeah," Prussia scoffed, "his French tastes can't stand the way normal people dress."

"Gilbert, _mon ami_, she is wearing **men's** Abercrombie. I will not allow this." France herded the three others into an elevator, and Israel tapped her foot impatiently. "Oh, calm down, Amiel. I think that we will first stop to get you proper undergarments, then-"

"Oh no. Hell no. There is no fucking way that you are bra-shopping for me. No. Way." Israel shook her head emphatically, stomping her foot for added measure "I can deal with you three redoing my entire collection of clothes, but there is no fucking way I am go bra-shopping. No. Way."

"There is no use arguing, _chere_." France dragged Israel out of the elevator and to the parking lot, where they had left the car the night before. "We are taking you to the mall and you are going to like it."

The car ride passed uneventfully, Prussia and Israel having a contest to see who would wave back when they waved to them. Israel won, mostly because when people saw an albino waving at them, they thought they were hallucinating and pulled over. Which was entertaining in its own right, and cleared the road significantly.

Once they got there, France turned to Israel. "Where should we go first? Shoes, one of those popular teen clothing stores, or get you your feminine apparel?"

"Just get the worst one over with," Israel grimaced, and headed for the section of lacy embarrassments. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I…"

"Oh, definitely. No one ever forgets time spent with awesome me," Prussia slung an arm over her shoulder. "It's just your bad luck that Franny's coming along too. But don't worry, I'll find something awesome for you to wear."

"Amiel~!" France called, motioning her over to where the racks began (no pun intended). Israel walked over, and France grabbed her chest, then announced: "She's a 36 B."

"That's talent for you," Prussia commented, much to the amusement of the store clerk.

Israel stalked over to where he was rifling through stacks of lingerie, and kicked France in the shin. "That was for groping me." She left, and went to look around a less revealing section of the store, only to glance warily back at France when he laughed and held up something black, lacy, and barely there.

"Here you go, Amiel," Spain grinned, handing her… pink. A mass of pink that was, thankfully, more decent than what France was looking at. "Girls like pink, and this is cute!"

"Um… Thanks, Antonio." Israel accepted the things Spain picked out, only to accosted by Prussia.

"Look at these!" Prussia shoved a bra patterned in camo, with skulls scattered across it, in Israel's face. "I wish I was a girl so I could wear something this awesome!" Israel pushed his hand down, and added them to her pile.

"Ah, Amiel, I have something you will love!" France presented some…. Thing, that had about as much coverage as a clear plastic bag. "It is perfect, _non_?"

"Why would I ever wear _that_?" Israel shuddered, and attempted to cross her arms, but the heap of clothing prevented that. "And do I have to try every single one of these on, or can we just buy them and get on with it?"

France sighed. "I suppose you can try them on when we get back to the hotel. Let's pay for these, and then go get you some real shirts." France relieved Israel of the mound of undergarments, and walked over to the lady behind the register. "_Bonjour, madame_, we would like to purchase these."

"Pardon me for asking, but why? We don't normally get three men that do not look the least related coming in with a young and buying her clothes!" The saleslady obviously thought something odd was going on, or she was just someone who enjoyed meddling.

"Well, see, Amiel here's parents died in a totally unawesome car wreck," Prussia grabbed Israel and pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Tony's her cousin," he motioned to Spain, "and he's taking care of her now. Francis and I are his best friends, and we know Amiel pretty well."

"… I see," she said, looking rather disbelieving. "And you three are getting her new clothes because?"

"Because the type of clothes Amiel thinks is acceptable are horrendous, and I have taken it upon myself to remedy this situation. Any self-respecting French person would do the same, _non_?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "Tonio and Gil are simply here to carry the bags."

"… I'm Jeanne," the clerk smiled at France. "And you sound like a very nice person." She wrapped up the last of the stuff and placed it neatly in a bag. "Will that be credit, debit, or cash, sir?"

"Credit," France flourished a shiny silver card. "_Merci, madame_." Jeanne smiled and swiped the card, oblivious to the eye rolls Spain, Prussia, and Israel were trading. "Alright," France winked one last time at Jeanne, slipping a piece of paper into his pocket that was either a receipt or a phone number. "Next, we are getting you some tighter shirts."

"I am not dressing like a whore," Israel bumped France's side, "you can try, but I am not wearing anything that's ridiculously tight, tiny, or any shorts that look like bikini bottoms."

"What's the fun in that?" Prussia sighed. "Knowing Liza- Hungary- she'll have you in a dress before the week's out." Israel sighed, and then doubled over, a hand clenched over her nose.

"Oh, ug, eww! What is that smell? It hit me like a fucking truck or something!" Israel grimaced.

"That, _mon amie_, is Abercrombie," France walked into the store, and Israel followed, immediately accosted by the stink of cologne, a huge floor to ceiling picture of a shirtless teenager, and a huge chested girl in a ridiculously tight shirt, asking if they needed help finding anything.

"No thanks, I think I'm old enough to pick out my own clothes," Israel stepped in front of her and glared. "Same with my friends." The other girl forced a smile, and went to go 'help' some other guys. "Slut," Israel muttered.

"I'm touched," Prussia grinned, and walked behind Israel into the girl's section. "Protecting us from the horrors of wonder-whore."

"Well, I know you and Tony are taken, and Francis flirts enough already," Israel said casually, brushing it off with a wave of her hand.

"Still," Prussia ruffled her hair. "Let's find you some awesome clothes, kid."

After picking out several sweatshirts and some jeans, Israel and Prussia went back to the men's area to find France and Spain. Spain was looking through some jeans, pre-ripped and faded.

"Do you think Lovi would like this?" He asked, holding them up.

"You mean you're gonna give them to him, or would he like them on you… or, really, off you." Israel smirked, and Prussia high-fived her. "Either way, they're nice, Antonio. I'd get 'em… if I was a guy. Or if they actually fit me."

"Well, let us get out of here," France chuckled, "the stench is killing my nose." The other three agreed fervently, and after paying for Israel's clothes- and Spain's pants, they went back into the main mall, Prussia carrying the bag this time.

"This store looks good," Israel remarked, heading towards something called dELiA*s. The Bad Touch Trio exchanged a look, then entered the store as well. Racks of shirts with funny slogans (Love At First Bite, and a picture of two bowls of Jell-o) were next to piles of tank tops; sundresses were hung up at the back, heaps of jean shorts and funky colored pants were stacked on tables, displays of sunglasses, nail polish, and patterned socks were scattered around. While France and Prussia flirted with the cash register girls, Israel and Spain went around and looked at all the shirts, and finally, she walked up to the register with her huge piles of new clothes.

"This good for a new wardrobe? I have jean shorts, tight capris, tank tops, t-shirts that aren't three sizes too big, and even one skirt." France grinned and handed his card to be swiped, and Israel smiled half-heartedly. "Thanks for getting me all this," she said as they walked out of the store, "you didn't have to."

"_Non, non!"_ France replied emphatically. "I had several reasons. First, your clothes were ugly. I simply could not stand to be seen with you in public if you looked like that. Secondly… think of it as a thank you from me."

"For what?" Israel was confused. "I didn't do anything, unless you're counting the time I said it was my fault that the airline lady tripped in the aisle, when it was really you and Gil that did it 'cause you were trying to see her underwear…"

"_Non_. Amiel, yesterday you trusted us. You told us your story, and sure, maybe it was because you were drunk, but that was our fault too. I'm simply expressing my appreciation that you decided you could tell us what happened to you." France patted her on the back, and the four of them exited the mall.

"Oh yeah, Amiel," Prussia said. "After you pulled your unawesome disappearing stunt this morning, I told the hotel staff that you were my autistic daughter, and that if they saw you outside the room without one of us with you, they were supposed to bring you back to our room. Just fyi."

"Wait… WHAT?"

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

SORRY this was supposed to be out this morning but I had to go pick up my sister from camp and I couldn't write… *sobs *

And I'm sooooorry for ending on a semi-cliffhanger, but I'll try to have the next chapter out tomorrow (I have the whole plot planned out, so it shouldn't be that long between updates)

Thanks so much to all the people who reviewed, favorited, or added this story to their alerts! And thank you to all the people that are actually reading this ^^

Alrighty, I'm going to start incorporating songs into this, because in my headcanon (yes, that scary, scary place), Israel LOVES loves loves music. (When I wrote this I was listening to Love The Way You Lie by Eminem, and it gave me an epic idea for a fight scene with ****** in a chapter or two. If you think you can guess who the fight scene will be with (6 letters), then drop a review with the guess and a request for something you want to see in upcoming chapters. If the request is awesome enough, then I'll slip it in anyways :D

ma chere- my dear

Mon amis- my friends

Merde- shit

Angleterre- England

Amigos- friends

Si, senorita- yes miss

Less than three. Less than three.


	6. Why Matt Really Needs His Maple Cookies

After Israel was done hitting Prussia several times, and France and Spain done laughing at the resulting hilarity, the four nations realized that it was only two in the afternoon. So, they had seventeen hours to go before the first meeting.

"Hey, I have an idea!" Prussia raised his hand into the air lazily; the four were currently sprawled out across the two beds. "I have an awesome idea that's totally awesome!"

"… If it's so totally awesome, then tell us instead of sitting there and being annoying!" Israel rolled her eyes, internally glad to have_ something_ to take her mind off the meeting the next day.

"Ok, so, Canada and Israel have good relations, right?" Prussia turned his head towards Israel for confirmation. She nodded, and he continued. "Well, as you know, the awesome Mattie is my awesome lover boy, so we need to go find Mattie and you two need to meet each other."

"Sounds fun," Israel got up slowly. "Francis, Antonio, you two coming with us?"

"No thank you, _chere_. I am going to get better acquainted with the ladies of this lovely city~!" France flourished his arm, and Israel, Prussia, and Spain exchanged eye rolls.

"I'm going to find Lovi~ and then we're going to go and find something to eat. You can meet Lovi~ tomorrow, Amiel! He's normally really nice to pretty girls!" Spain beamed, and sauntered out the door. France soon followed, so Prussia and Israel were left to find Canada's room by themselves.

"Gilbert… Do you even know what room number he's in?" Israel was slightly (reasonably) doubtful about Prussia's directional capabilities, seeing as he had been the one telling them to turn down the wrong streets when they were trying to get to the hotel the night before.

"Of **course** I know! I looked for his room on the sheet Alfred had up, so…" Prussia spun around, looking for something. "He's on the same floor, and his room should be near here."

"Gil?" A quiet voice asked, and Prussia spun around, grabbing the thin blonde who'd recognized him around the waist and spinning him around, finally setting him down, facing Israel.

"Amiel, this is Birdie. Birdie, Amiel. She's Israel." Prussia smirked, and Israel glared at him.

"I feel bad for you, Canada, if you have to put up with Gilbert all the time. I can barely stand ten minutes of his 'awesome' company." Israel stepped forward and shook hands with Canada.

"Come on, why so unawesomely formal?" Prussia bear hugged the both of them, resulting in a long-suffering sigh from Canada and an elbow in the ribs from Israel.

"You can call me Matthew," Canada said after Prussia (finally) let them go. "And, if you don't mind me asking… Why haven't we seen you before? I mean, you've been around for 60 or so years, did you just not realize who you were?" After a few seconds of awkward silence, Canada went into full apology mode. "Oh, I'm sorry if that's a touchy subject, I was just wondering because, you know, we haven't ever seen you at world meetings so I wanted to know why you were here now- not that it's a bad thing that you're here now, it's really great, but-"

Israel placed a finger over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. "Matt, I'm older than sixty. And if I have to explain this all over again, you're getting the short version, because I don't want to push my luck with another three bottles of vodka. Let's go back to someone's room and I can talk there, I don't know who could be listening here."

"Wait... What?" Canada turned towards Prussia, somewhat confused. "Three bottles of vodka… _what_?" He repeated, eventually rubbing his forehead and heading down the hallway. "Fine. We are gong to sit in my room, I'm going to take some Advil- because after spending four hours with Al planning the meeting because he procrastinates **way** too much- I have a headache. You can explain everything there."

"Fine with me." Israel followed Canada- and Prussia, who was clinging to the blonde like a leech. Maybe it was an albino thing.

"… And wouldn't three bottles of vodka make you pass out, even though you are a nation?"

"… I'll get to that later."

* * *

"Alright… So… If I've got this down correctly" Canada was sitting on his hotel bed, massaging his forehead, Prussia flopped (asleep) on his stomach behind him. Israel was curled up in a chair, finished telling her story. "In a nutshell, you've been alive for a really long time, used to be in a relationship with Rome, are connected to Jews the world over, _Papa_, Gil and Antonio took you shopping yesterday, and you're going to kick my brother's ass at the next world meeting." Canada half-smiled, he'd long since gotten used to the fact that many of the people he counted as close friends would be locked up in normal society.

"That's basically it, Matt. Yeah, and your dad's a total pervert." Israel laughed, but Canada simply narrowed his eyes.  
"Amiel…" He started. "Please, stop trying to fool me. I spent years without anyone noticing me, if that didn't make me a good reader of body language, what could? You're lying. I'm not going to call you whiny or hurt you if you tell me how you actually feel, you don't have to keep it bottled up inside all the time."  
"I have to give you credit, kid," Israel smiled bitterly. "You're not as dense as Gilbert and his two friends. After all my years, I can put up a pretty good façade. Congratulations on seeing through it. So, tell me, Matt, what you think. What you think about my story, and how I act now, and my mask. I'd like to know, your opinion may end up being one that I actually value."

"I think…" Canada sighed. "You're doing what I did, except a lot better. You're acting like everything's fine, like you're perfectly happy. Because if you weren't, it would just cause more problems, make you feel worse. So, you're trying to cover up all your hurts from the past with a smiling, cheery face. You broke down before, with Francis, Antonio, and Gil, and you don't want that to happen again. You're worried about the meeting, anyone would be, but most of all… You're worried that people will think back once they realize how old you are, think back and realize what must've happened between you and Rome. Because you still love him, don't you? And you don't want people to know that, because he was your greatest weakness. The one thing about you that you could never change."

"… Damn. For a kid, you're pretty perceptive." Israel smirked again, her bitter smirk. "I try to let go of the past, but even someone as young as you knows how difficult that is. Some day's I'm better at it than others. How about this deal? I can bitch to you, but I'll try to keep fooling everyone else. That work for you?"

"Sure." Canada smiled gently. "I know what it's like to feel like no one cares about you. And I know that I've been around for a much shorter time than you- so I can't really get annoyed with you calling me 'kid'- but I'll try to help you with your problems, and I'll side with you, now that Al's boss is being a jackass. Does that work for _you_?"

"You got yourself a deal, kid." Israel's face looked a little less bitter, and a little more happy. But maybe that was just Canada being hopeful. "Shake on it? I would suggest a blood pact, but since I really don't want to get any more scars, that option's out… for now." Israel actually laughed at the expression on Canada's face. "Calm down, Matt, I'm just kidding." Now, Canada wasn't imagining it. She didn't look as bitter.

"Just shaking hands is fine." And as Israel reached her hand out and grasped Canada's, he grabbed her forearm and pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, hugging her. She stiffened initially, not expecting a hug, but then relaxed, even slipping her arms around Canada's torso and hugging him back. "For someone that's been through so much, you're pretty small," he murmured into her hair, enjoying the friendly embrace.

"I'm sorry that we all can't be giant Arctic wastelands," Israel retorted sardonically. "It's unfair that the youngest countries get to be the largest. Us ancients get stuck with little bitty pieces of land."

"Well, I'm sorry that you're jealous. Maybe ending up really big has something to do with being raised by Europeans. For them, bigger is better." Canada paused to wonder whether or not Rome was technically a European… Well, Israel wasn't really raised by him, so it didn't matter.

"Part of me used to be a French Colonial Territory, though." Israel chuckled at Canada's surprised gasp. "I'm not lying."

"Has Francis realized that fact yet?" Canada opened his arms and Israel moved out of the hug and onto the mattress next to him.

"No, and I don't intend that he shall," Israel yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock. "It's four o'clock." Quickly doing calculations in her head. "Fifteen hours until the meeting starts… What are you supposed to wear to the conference, anyway? I'm guessing jeans and a T-shirt won't cut it."

Canada got off his bed and started looking through the dresser in the room- he had folded and out away his clothes neatly- "Well, I normally wear slacks and a dress shirt, but you may want to-"

"HEY, MATTIE, IT'S THE HEROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!" America's rather loud entrance was cut off by a very un-hero like screech as a knife embedded itself in the doorway, pinning part of the sleeve of his bomber jacket there as well. "WHO THE HELL THREW THAT KNIFE, YOU DON'T JUST THROW WEAPONS AT HEROES! MATTIE, THAT WASN'T YOU WAS IT OH MY GOD I BET IT'S SOME SORT OF CONSPIRACY-" America was once again cut short, this time as Israel walked over to reclaim her knife, and slapped a hand over his mouth, stopping his mini freak out.

"If you burst into someone's hotel room randomly, do you expect to be completely safe?" Israel raised an eyebrow, then went back to where Canada was frozen, rummaging through his clothes. "Yeah, Matt? You were saying?"

"WHO ARE YOU AND HOW DO YOU KNOW MATT?" America rushed at Israel, grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the wall. "I'll ask you one more time," his voice was dangerously quiet. "Who are you-"

"Israel," she said, as she braced her back against the wall, pushing into America's stomach with the bottom of one foot, while swinging the other leg behind America's shin and pushing the man off balance and flat onto his back. Where he stared up at her with admiration in his eyes.

"That," he announced, getting back up, "was epic. Seriously, you have to teach me how to do that!" Now that he knew the mysterious girl was an ally, his bright grin was back, and he yanked her into a hug.

"What the hell is it with you two and hugs," she growled, shoving her way out of America's arms. "Really, did being raised by France and England give you no concept of personal space at all?"

"Aren't you happy to get hugged by the hero?" America pouted, and Israel rolled her eyes. "Not many people are awesome enough to get hero hugs, you know!"

"Yeah, because you're not awesome, I am." Prussia sat up, all the noise had woken him. Or his_ annoying brother of lover boy is around to possibly ruin some fun time_ senses were tingling. One of the two. "Oh, and Amiel, when you were asleep- well, passed out, really- after drinking all that vodka, Franny snuck out around midnight and got you something to wear. I snuck into Birdie's room to hide it, so it should be…" he scooted to the edge of the bed, and rooted around under it, finally pulling out a bag.

While America started bugging Canada about not telling him about Israel sooner and how the meeting was going to go, Israel opened the bag and surveyed its contents. A military uniform from her country, with a small black box on top of it. Israel opened the box cautiously, knowing France (_Caution: knowing, being familiar with, or associating with France/Francis Bonnefoy is not recommended for: easily annoyed women, people with recurring cases of constipation, or people with allergies to roses. Also: WARNING: Francis may cause pregnancy_), it could be anything from a piece of a brick to a condom. It was neither of those, however (**thankfully**). A silver Star of David shone from inside the box, a perfect star that would fit in the neckline of her uniform.

"Luddy and I have our awesome crosses, so Franny figured your star would be cool. I thought it was pretty awesome, myself." Prussia looked immensely pleased with himself, and from Israel's smile, he guessed that she really liked the present.

"What is it?" America leaned over Israel's shoulder to see her present, only to receive a sharp elbow to the stomach. "Hey, why are you being so mean to the hero?" He pouted.

"Because you haven't really done much to earn my respect," Israel's voice was flat. "Maybe if you stop acting childish then I'll stop hurting you." America stopped to think (Oh, so that was what the burning smell was from!) and mumbled something about it being illegal to hit the hero.

"Well," Canada attempted to distract everyone before it could turn into a full out fight, "we still have a lot of time until the meeting, so should we go out and see a movie or go to dinner?" Brilliant, Canada, brilliant. Stick your brother, your lover, and a touchy girl with concealed weapons (Canada wasn't betting anything that her knife was all she had hidden) in either A: a dark theater, sitting next to each other, or B: around a table, sharing food. Oh, I know! Let's try to win the Easiest Way To Start Another World War Competition in a landslide and go out to dinner _and_ a movie!

"OH!" America jumped up and down, waving his hand in the air for some strange reason. "We totally have to go see Despicable Me!" This idea greeted by a witticism from Prussia ("Yeah, you're a fucking despicable cockblocker, alright"), sarcasm from Israel ("Who died and made you king of anything?") and Canada grabbing a small bag of Tylenol and slipping in his pocket, because he could already tell that this was going to be a_ very_ long night.

* * *

The movie itself was a strain on Canada's skull, between Prussia ("Gru is pretty fucking awesome, did he kill those animals in his house **himself?**"), America ("Wait, where's the hero? This is American cinema, there has to be a hero! Don't tell me that the bad guy is the hero… blasphemy!), and Israel ("Well this is pointless." *commences throwing popcorn at the couple making out two rows in front of them*).

When they finally got out, Canada was ready to hit the three of them. Or, really, duct tape America and Israel's mouths shut, and then go back to the hotel room and get rid of some of the accumulated stress with Prussia. Yes, that sounded nice.

"Hey, Matt," Israel tugged on his sleeve, and he looked down at her. "Let's skip dinner -America will probably make us go to McDonalds anyway- and get room service back at the hotel. You look like you're about to strangle someone." Canada glanced gratefully at Israel, then the four started to walk back to the hotel (correction: Israel and Canada started to walk, America and Prussia were too busy arguing to actually notice that they were a few streetlights behind their friends).

After a walk filled with shoves, arguments, and Canada trying to shut his brother and lover up (and then Israel threatening them with one of her secret weapons so they actually did shut up), the four arrived at the hotel.

"I'm first, 'cause I'm the hero!" America rushed to the door, holding it open for everyone else. Israel went through first, muttering 'thanks,' and getting a grin from America. Canada followed her, fumbling for the key card in his pocket. After his brother, America slipped in before Prussia and closed the door, sticking his tongue out at the albino.

"Petty, petty. If you're gonna get back at Gil, do it better, kid." Israel pulled the door open, shaking her head at America's childishness. "And Gil, stop purposely annoying America."

"It's Alfred!" America insisted. "And I'm not a kid! And… I wasn't getting back at him, I just didn't see him when I closed the door. He blends in with the night! Don't blame the hero!"

"Alfred… You are so a kid. How old are you? Two or so hundred years?" America nodded. "Yeah. Compare that to the few thousand years I have. And Gilbert is an albino. How the hell does he blend into the night?" Israel scoffed and crossed her arms.

"… What? You're only, like, 60? So I'm totally not a kid. And I was looking up, at the stars, and they're all white and crap, so that's where he blended in." America looked extremely self-satisfied.

"I'm around five thousand years old, Alfred. I was me way back before even China was around. So you better get used to being called 'kid.' By the way, your lame star excuse makes no sense. Come up with better comebacks, or just don't try." Israel wondered how she would survive an entire meeting tomorrow with these people, as she was ready to shoot someone after only a few hours together!

The banter continued until they got up to the room, where Canada and Prussia collapsed on the bed (much to America's displeasure), Israel grabbed the chair she was sitting in previously, and America was left to sit on the floor.

"Alfred, maybe you should go back to your own room…" Canada yawned. Israel had moved from the chair to the window seat, and was staring out at the night lit city with an unreadable expression on her face. "Israel is staying here," he explained to America's pout, "because Francis probably brought some hooker back to the hotel room, and there's nowhere else for her to go."

"I can just sit in the lobby and read," Israel offered. "I wasn't going to sleep tonight anyways. I'll just break back into the hotel room Gil, Tony, and Francis were sharing, and get my suitcase."

"Wait… you're not sleeping?" America cocked his head, confused. Why would anyone voluntarily not sleep? "Why would you not sleep? You burn more calories sleeping than watching TV, actually. And aren't girls always worried about calories?" Canada and Prussia winced.

"If I hadn't promised myself to not start any fights," Israel spat out, "I might've hit you for that. And I don't want to sleep, because if anyone wants to take me out quietly, the night before the conference- when only a few people know me, and I haven't revealed myself to the rest of the world yet- would be a perfect time. So you go to sleep, I'm staying up."

"Alright, lights off, everyone," Canada hit the switch, and the room was plunged into darkness

"… The hero's staying," America decided. "So Mattie, albino freak, you better not get up to anything."

"I think they'll be fine as long as you aren't jerking off in the bathroom, Alfred."

"Hey! I take offense at that!"

"LIGHTS ARE OFF. SLEEP. NOW."

"_Fine, fine_, Mattie. Stop pmsing already."

"Oh, you want pmsing? How about I get out my UZI and show you some **real **pmsing, Alfred. Matt's a boy. He can't pms. But I…"

"Alright, no more comments about my femininity, and go to sleep!"

*collective sigh*

Alfred whispered "Mattie can be a scary bastard sometimes."

Israel rolled her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

If this chapter felt a bit… off… it's because I think I'm going to go dig myself a ditch and die soon. Onemanga is shutting down. *sobs*

Less than three. Less than three


	7. Lady GaGa Transcends All Barriers

Sometime late at night, when the moon was out, stars were twinkling (at least, the ones you could see beyond the huge clouds covering the sky), and the sound of cars and motorcycles roaring down the street provided the usual urban white noise, America woke up, to see Israel singing quietly to herself and looking out at the city.

"_Sometimes I drive so fast_," her voice was a quiet alto, "_Just to feel the danger. I wanna scream… It makes me feel alive._" America got the sense that this was not something he should interrupt, her midnight solos. "_Is it enough to love? Is it enough to breathe? Somebody rip my heart out, and leave me here to bleed. Is it enough to die? Somebody save my life… I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please_." Israel trailed off, and America chanced a question.

"Amiel?" Israel didn't start; she'd heard the change in America's breathing and knew he had woken, that's why she stopped singing. Just because he couldn't sleep didn't mean she'd give him a concert. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You already did, silly." Israel's voice was calm, absent of its usual sardonic quality. "But fine, ask away. I reserve your right to remain silent if I really don't want to answer. And it better not be stupid." A bit of the sarcasm was back, though less biting than normal.

"Do you have a last name? Like, how Mattie is Matthew Williams, and I'm Alfred F. Jones. But when we met, you just introduced yourself as Amiel, without a last name. I don't think it's an old Jewish thing, so… why?" America looked up at the shadowed girl curled against the window.

"That's a good question." Israel sounded slightly surprised, and a little amused. "You're right about it not being an old custom; even ancient people had last names. I chose my own first name, I had to. I spent the beginning of my life alone, and when I heard someone else being called Amiel… It just clicked. Like the trees rustling or the river flowing, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. When really, they were calling my name. So, I took the name as my own. But you weren't asking that, were you? My last name…" She sighed. "It's not that I didn't want one- well, I didn't, but that's beside the point- a last name symbolizes something not many people are aware of nowadays. It says that you belong to something. It can be a guild you belong to- Smith, or Baker-, or stating that you're part of a clan, a family. In my land, my people would take the names of their parents as their own, which is why people have names like Ben Yehuda- they're the child of Yehuda. I wasn't anyone's child, so I wouldn't have had a last name like that anyway. But other than that… A husband's last name, one that you take on after marriage. It shows ownership, that you're possessed, not fully your own. Surnames are a label, a label saying 'mine!' I didn't belong to anyone, so I didn't want to make people think I did. I never took one, so in the truest sense, I've been free for as long as I can remember. There was no one to claim hold over me simply because of what I called myself, no one to take the choices of my heart and twist them to suit their own purposes. That answer your question?" She turned to America, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, and then some." America yawned, stretching his arms and laying down again. "I guess we both need that. Need to be free…" His sentence drifted off as he fell asleep, and Israel chuckled softly.

"But freedom never really works out the way you want it to, does it?" She turned to face the window and thumped her head gently on the glass. "Why does everyone have to pry? It's not their business, anyway… My life would be so much fucking easier if they just left me alone." Israel sighed again. "Stupid fucking America and his stupid fucking… hero ideals, and stupid fucking France with his stupid fucking _l'amour_, and stupid fucking Spain with his stupid fucking happiness, and stupid fucking Prussia with his stupid fucking 'awesome…' And stupid fucking idiot nations that give me a stupid fucking reason to be so fucking paranoid that I barely sleep." During her little self-pity party, Israel had unconsciously been digging her fingernails into her arm, and when she stopped, five red crescents remained, some of them starting to bleed. She raised her arm to her mouth, tongue darting out to scoop the droplets of crimson off her skin. "And stupid fucking me," she hissed, "for letting all this get to me."

* * *

The next morning, America had no recollection of his conversation with Israel, and she was busy hitting Prussia with a pillow so he would wake up and they wouldn't be late for the world conference.

"Wake up, idiot!" Canada was getting dressed in his uniform- Israel was already wearing hers- and didn't know that his boyfriend was being abused by a pillow. _Whack! Thwack! Thunk! _America revised his opinion of what Prussia's skull was made of, if hitting it with a pillow made a sound relative to hitting a solid brick wall with aforementioned pillow.

"Stop hitting me…" Prussia mumbled into the mattress. "That's so unawesome." Israel huffed and hit him with the pillow again. "It's fine if we're late, so… stop tryin' to get me up." Prussia waved a hand dismissively.

"Alfred, do me a favor and drag this dumbass out of bed," Israel scowled. "I'm not being late to my first damn meeting. You're the hero, help me get this lazy sack of crap up!"

"Oh, sure." America had to remind himself that she was someone he could- and should- listen to, he still wasn't used to the fact that Israel, demanding, pushy, sarcastic, funny Israel was his ally now, a real ally. Not someone that would stick with him, and then ditch him the first time he made a mistake. She was one who believed in freedom as much as he did, who had wanted it, craved it, needed it long before him. And that Israel was going to meet the rest of the world today… He hoped there wouldn't be any major conflicts (read: anything that involved broken bones or pyrotechnic tendencies being turned into pyrotechnic activities). He grabbed Prussia's ankles and dragged him out from under the covers, neglecting to notice the fact that Prussia had chose to strip completely before sleeping. And oh yes, he stripped **completely**.

"Ew! I did not need to see that!" Israel mimed vomiting as she turned around and walked to the door, hitting her head against the wood. "Gilbert, for the love of God, put some fucking clothes on."

"Why does Gil have no clothes on?" Canada walked out of the bathroom he'd been changing in, having heard the commotion outside. "And why is Amiel hurting that poor door?"

"She saw my awesome five meters, and it was too much for her," Prussia stood up and yawned, scratching his neck. "Do you know where I put my uniform?"

"I think it's back in Francis' room, along with the rest of your clothes," Israel, deciding her head had been hit enough that the image of Prussia's vital regions was sufficiently out of her head, slipped out the door. "I'm waiting in the hallway," her voice was somewhat muffled, "and if I have to be subjected to an unnecessary sight like that again, your 'five meters' will be chopped off."

"That's illegal here," America piped in, "it's called malicious castration. Attacking with the intent to maim or destroy male genitalia. Gets you a while in prison." A brief verbal silence followed his words. Verbal, because a lot was going on physically (Prussia covering his vital regions protectively, Canada shaking in silent laughter, the usual.).

"… If you know that from experience, then that's awesome. If you know it because you memorized all of your unawesome laws or something, then that's just pathetic." Prussia grabbed a pair of Canada's sweatpants and went to go to France's room and get his real clothes. "Enjoy the view?" he smirked, patting Israel's head. "Chill, chill," he held up his hands as she shot him a death glare that rivaled one of Romano's. Prussia sauntered down the hallway and slipped a stolen 'opens all rooms' keycard into France's door, winking as he closed it behind him.

"He needs to be taken down a peg or three," America was standing in the hallway right behind Israel, glaring at the spot the albino had vacated.

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, eh!" Canada elbowed his brother in the side as he, too, left the room. "Al and Amiel, do you two want to get Al's car and pull it up? I'll be down with Gil and Francis soon enough. Antonio's probably getting a ride with Romano, judging by the fact that he didn't come back last night…" A very un-manly shriek emitted from the room Prussia had entered, and two of the three nations in the hall exchanged querying glances. "That was probably Gil jumping on _Papa_ to wake him up," Canada clarified.

America and Israel left Canada to wait in the hallway, and took the elevator down to the lobby.

"Why are there mirrors on the ceiling?" Israel was looking up at aforementioned mirrors, trying to fathom the point of having the top of people's heads reflected somewhere they would probably never look. After all, it was much more entertaining to examine and mentally critique your fellow passengers (oh, come on, everyone does it).

"So if the cable snaps, you get a last glimpse of your terrified expression before falling to your gruesome accidental death?" Israel raised an eyebrow at the normally cheery hero's comment. "Hey, don't ask me anything before I've had my morning coffee. The world looks a lot more morbid before a shot or three of caffeine."

"Not even arguing," Israel rolled her eyes. Honestly, why so many people were dependent on caffeine was inconceivable to her. The elevator dinged, but, instead of opening to the lobby, a middle aged tourist couple got on, chatting and smiling. The wife was casting glances at Israel and America, obviously having heard them talking before they got on.

"Hi there!" She beamed, tossing her dyed red hair. "How are you two newlyweds doing?" Israel and America looked at her, eyes wider than Prussia's when he was begging for pancakes, then looked at each other. "Oh, don't try to deny it, you two," she waggled her finger at them. "I see that ring on your finger, missy!" Israel turned bright red as she looked at Rome's- golden!- ring.

"Look… I… um, we aren't…" America stuttered, but that infernal woman _tsk_-ed and shook her head.

"No use trying to hide it, young man," America's eye twitched, he was a few hundred years older than this lady! She was a baby compared to him! "I can _tell_." Here the woman- who he was considering strangling, Hero reputation be damned!- tapped the side of her forehead with a well manicured fingernail. "Ah, young love, so beautiful."  
By now, America was turning pink as well, though he nowhere near matched the vibrant hue that made Israel's face resemble a sunset. The lady and her husband walked out of the elevator while the other two occupants were still in a stunned silence.

"Let us never speak of that again," America's eye was still twitching. "Please." Israel nodded, face still flushed, and the two walked into the lobby and then to the parking lot. "So…" America started after a little bit of awkward silence (he'd gotten to the hotel late, so he'd parked far away). "Are you looking forward to the meeting? It's your first one, right?"

"I think if I were looking forward to shoving all the nations of the world in one room and making us figure out our issues, I might be applicable for a vacation to a nice room with pillows on the walls and a jacket I could wear would help me hug myself!" Israel said, her voice at first dripping with sarcasm, then coated with fake cheer. America paused for a second before laughing, the noise echoing all over the parking lot. "It wasn't that funny," Israel slugged him half-heartedly on the arm.

"Actually, it was pretty original. I like- OH, there's the car!" America jumped, and waved at the car- like it could wave back?-, then walked over to the….

"… Hummer. You drive a fucking _Hummer_." Israel looked like she was going t puke. "That has to be one of the most un-environmentally friendly cars on earth. You have to live with what your people do, why not set an example?" Even with America's blatant pollution of the air, a small part of her mind couldn't help but be distracted by what America was going to say before he saw the car.

"This is just my driving people places car, Amiel." America sighed, like it was obvious. "My other car is much more hero like."

"So what, your other car is the Batmobile or something?"

"… Just get in the car." America swung his door open and hopped into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a roar. Israel took shotgun, looking tiny in the huge seat. "You need a booster seat?" America teased, ruffling Israel's hair. She scowled and brushed his hand off, reaching for the radio as America began doing loops in the parking lot, waiting for Canada, France, and Prussia to exit the hotel.

"Shit, shit, double shit," Israel flipped through the channels, denouncing every one of America's songs that were on. "Do you have any decent music at all? Really, it's shitty rap, shitty pop, and shitty sing-talking by ke- dollar sign- ha. You put more effort into your fast food restaurants than you do your music industry!"

"Wait!" America, pulling an exceptionally sharp turn around a red Honda Civic- and sending Israel slamming into the door- fumbled with a CD case tucked above the driver's sunshade. He pulled it out triumphantly, and announced: "I made my own CD of all my favorite Lady GaGa songs! You have to like Lady GaGa, Amiel, she's an international symbol!"

"… A symbol of what, exactly? Of promiscuity and clothes that aren't even actual clothes, but mutations of fabric? Of singing about ridiculously dirty things to a catchy beat?" Israel inserted the CD into the player anyway.

"Ha! You admit it's catchy!" America beamed, but didn't contest the rest of her statements. "Flip to track 7, that's my favorite!" Israel complied, to have the sound of Lady GaGa fill the inside of the car.

"_Oh, caught in a bad romance_

_Oh, caught in a bad romance_," America began to sing along, his loud voice almost overpowering Lady GaGa's.

"_Rah rah, ah ah ah_

_Roma, roma ma_

_Gaga, ooh la la_

_Want your bad romance_," Israel joined in, much to America's joy. She turned the bass up until it was literally shaking the car, and they continued chanting as America left skid marks on the asphalt. Thankfully, they were near the very back of the very large parking lot, so they hadn't gotten caught yet.

"ALFRED!" America and Israel heard France's shout as they sped past the front door.

"Oops, I guess they're out…" America, looking sad that he couldn't mess around anymore, pulled up to the curb, music spilling out as Canada opened the passenger door.

"TURN IT DOWN!" Canada yelled, trying to make himself heard over the music. However, as his voice was not loud at the best of times, he failed miserably. Instead, he resorted to hitting his twin on the shoulder and motioning to the volume button.

Israel understood, and lowered the decibel level from ear bleeding to merely headache inducing. "Better, Matt?" Canada nodded gratefully, then smiled when France leaned forward and turned the music off.

"Why'd you do that?" America yelled, pouting that his tunes had been rejected.

"Because your horrendous music was killing me slowly?" France rolled his window down as America drove out of the parking lot. "And because we need to talk."

"Lady GaGa talks! She speaks for the people!" America fist pumped as he continued ranting about his favorite singer. "Lady GaGa transcends all barriers, gender and the like! She shows that you can be who you want to be, and be awesome while doing it! Lady GaGa shows true American spirit!"

"If she shows 'true America spirit,' then I worry for your country," Israel remarked. America stuck his tongue out at her, and France tried to get them back on track (Surprising, right? Mostly because if he didn't say what he needed to, there would be a lot more fights, and therefore a lot less chances of him groping whoever was sitting next to him. Now it's not so shocking, is it?).

"Amiel," he began, "this probably won't be a peaceful meeting. It never is, but now that you're here, I have a feeling that some of the other Middle Eastern countries will be rather… Incensed. They will try to engage you in conflict, but if you fight back… That will not end well, _chere."_

"Francis, I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If they try to mess with me, I can handle it. Believe me, I can take care of myself in a fight." Israel was inwardly touched at her friend's worry, but also a little amused that he thought she couldn't handle a couple of kids trying to mess with her.

"I'll protect Amiel, don't worry!" America took one hand off the steering wheel to thumbs up. "We're allies, so I'm supposed to protect her against those really bad people if they're harassing her or something!"

"Alfred, I appreciate the sentiments, but I really can protect myself!" Israel was a little annoyed, they didn't seem to get that she'd managed just fine for 5,000 years, she'd be alright now!

"Just take it in stride," Prussia leaned forward and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Sometimes, Amiel, you've got to just let go and have others help you. It's not all bad."

"… I have a feeling that that was East Germany speaking, not Prussia." _Sometimes_, Prussia thought, _Israel saw too much_.

"ENOUGH WITH THE DEPRESSING SHIT!" America yelled, turning Lady GaGa back on. "We don't have that much longer before we have to sit on those stupid uncomfortable chairs and talk about the royal fuck-ups that our bosses manage to make, so let's just sing and have fun now!"

"… Did Al just say something somewhat philosophical that actually made sense and wasn't about hamburgers?" Canada gasped in fake shock, and placed a hand over his heart. "I think I'm about to faint!"

"I WANT YOUR LOVE AND I WANT YOUR REVENGE

YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE," America sung-shouted to drown out his brother's sarcastic comments.

"I WANT YOUR LOVE, AND ALL YOUR LOVE IS REVENGE,

YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE!" The other occupants of the gas guzzling motor vehicle sang as well, Prussia competing with America for the title of Who Can Push Their Vocal Cords The Furthest Without Ripping Them Due To Singing Too Fucking Loud.

All too soon, they were outside the world conference building, and America had to turn the music off.

"Well, here's to a meeting where no one dies, no infernos are set, and we compromise." Canada quipped.

They had no idea how far that was going to be from the truth.

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

1: Awkward!America is just so cute~ I wanna hug him

2: Next chapter is the meeting, and the fight! Last chance to guess the mystery aggressor (he/she is: ******, nation is 6 letters long)!

3: I wrote this with thunder that makes my house shake and lightning that illuminates my whole street as my background entertainment. Fuck yeah.

4: I have to go to a 12 day family vacation/ reunion thingy (I leave four days from now). I'll try to get chapters out during it, but I don't even know if I'll have wifi. ;_;

5: Reviews make my life. This is sorta my pet project, and every favorite or review or alert I get just makes me write MOAR :D (seriously though. I'll freak out over a review I got, then write a one-shot because I'm ridiculously happy)

Less than three. Less than three


	8. How To Make Chaos In About 15 Minutes

FIRST: I would like to have a mini-shoutout to my soul sister (known here as kaudude618), without whom this chapter probably wouldn't be up, and I'd be back to the completely emotionless lump of ice that I was for a good 2/3 of my life. So… Thanks, hon, for giving me a reason to keep writing. And if this chapter seems written oddly, it's because I reread the Artemis Fowl series today, so my wit is razor sharp and ready to burst someone's ego. Now, without further ado, on to the chapter.

* * *

The five nations entered the building, France in front, scanning for England (his favorite target (although it could be debated whether he could actually be an unwilling target, as he seemed to like the groping (also a topic that could be discussed at length, but not near England, unless one rather fancied the idea of being submitted to the verbal equivalent of being drawn and quartered, then chopped up into little bits and having those little bits being rolled into little balls of dung))), Prussia and Canada talking (How much is there to discuss about pancakes and maple syrup anyway? But it seemed Prussia was insisting that syrup made from trees that were in New Prussia was the awesomest, and Canada trying to get in a good jab at his enormous ego, so maybe it was just their odd way of flirting), and America being chastised by Israel for most likely breaking the speakers on his car by blaring the music so loud. They didn't attract that much attention right away, because no one could see Israel behind Prussia. But, of course, the hyperactive Italy _had_ to draw attention in the loudest way possible. Because, well, Italy was just… Italy.

"Gilgil! Yay, you're here! It's so good to see you and I knew you'd be here even though technically you don't do any work –I wish I didn't have to work but_ fratello_ says that I'm too lazy and makes me work but anyway I knew you'd be here because everyone comes to the meetings aren't they so fun even if Switzerland does shoot at brother France a lot but really that's funny and-" Italy's voice was gradually rising as he got more and more excited, until he was practically yelling at the top of his voice. "AND THAT'S WHY YOU NEVER TRY TO COOK PASTA IN A TOASTER! WAIT, GILGIL, WHO'S YOUR NEW FRIEND SHE'S NEW I HAVEN'T SEEN HER BEFORE!" And proceeded to hug Israel, who was trying not to flip the clingy Italian over her shoulder and out of her personal bubble. Finally, as the result of Germany pulling Italy off his 'new friend,' with obvious practice (Italy was like a leech, a pasta loving leech that sucked the energy and/or patience out of whoever was unfortunate enough to be clung to. Germany's hair gel (which he used profusely) was enriched with extra energy and patience giving minerals, which was why the hyperactive brunette did not daunt the stoic European), Israel was free.

At Italy's proclamation of 'Gilgil's new friend,' some of the countries began to get curious. They knew he wasn't talking about that shy blonde boy (which country was he again?) Prussia always hung out with, because as effeminate as he was, he was still a man, and Italy, while he was as dense as Spain, normally could tell women apart from men. Normally. Maybe it had to do with his gender confusion as a child. Since France already knew- otherwise, he would've been the first one over, to 'claim new territory,'- the first person was Korea. Who, at hearing, 'new friend,' immediately translated it into 'new breasts that originated in Korea to claim, da ze~!' And ran over.

"Who's the newbie, da ze?" He snuck in a quick grope of the oblivious Italian's chest before peering around, trying to find the mysterious nation. He apparently hadn't picked up on Italy's use of the pronoun 'she.' "Ah, there you are!" But, upon seeing that the brunette was, in fact, a woman, didn't touch her. There were several theories about why Korea never groped women, the most popular being that after an encounter with Hungary's frying pan, he was too scarred to attempt it again. Scarred, physically and mentally. Hungary tended to do that to people. "Aww, it's just a girl." Korea pouted, and went to find Hong Kong for some comfort about the disappointment that there was nothing new to 'claim.' Although that 'comforting' would probably just be Korea groping Hong, and Hong threatening him with a firecracker shoved down his pants.

But back to the girl being accosted by most of the nations waiting in the entrance hall of the building.

"Who's new, aru?"

"FELICIANO, GET AWAY FROM THAT POTATO BASTARD! AND GET THE FUCK _OFF _ME, SPAGNA!"

"The new comrade shall be one with Russia, _da_?"

"Do you hate jerk England too?"

"DON'T WORRY, AMY, THE HERO WILL SAVE YOU!" This last comment was accompanied by America picking up Israel and swinging her over his shoulder, then dashing for the meeting room with all possible speed, leaving everyone else- including his brother and the others who had arrived with them- in the dust.

"S-sin-n-ce wh-e-en was-s-s m-m-my n-na-me A-a-a-my?" Israel chattered; her head hitting America's back repeatedly was not helping her attempt to berate the other nation.

"Well," America said brightly, not short of breath _at all_ despite the ridiculous speed he was sprinting at, "I figured you needed an awesome American nickname sooner or later!"

"O-o-k-k-ay, b-but ca-n-n y-y-ou p-p-lea-s-se p-pu-ut m-me d-d-d-down!" Israel starting hitting his back with her fists when he didn't respond; assuming (correctly) that he hadn't heard her because he was singing his own national anthem after seeing an American flag hung on the wall.

"Oh, we're here!" America skidded to a stop, stopping not two inches from the door. "I'll put you down now!" He bent over and let Israel slide off his back, she looked slightly nauseated and a little more than slightly irritated. "Conference room, here we come!" America flung the door open with a series of dramatic gestures, and ushered the still-dizzy Israeli into the huge room, pushing the door closed with his foot and locking it for extra security. That commie bastard could be pretty persistent when he was trying to get people to 'become one' with him. And, really, you never knew when the zombie apocalypse was going to hit, a locked door might just save their lives.

Flags from every country hung from the ceiling- even her own flag, Israel noted in interest.

"Who hung up my flag?" She wanted to know who'd done something nice so she- well, probably not so she could thank them, so she could mentally give them a free pass so she wouldn't hurt them the next time they did something to piss her off. Which, knowing her short temper, would probably be sooner than said mystery flag hanger realized.

"I did, of course!" America beamed, and she looked up at him (he was a good six or seven inches taller than her) in surprise. "After all, we're practically bffs! I recognized you eleven minutes after you declared independence!" Israel felt a little peeved that he answered her unspoken question so easily. Most people wouldn't have been able to read her like that.

"… Ok." Israel walked over to the table, looking at the chairs, some of them doodled on and decorated from years of having the same occupant. For example: the chair with different types of pasta written and drawn on was probably Italy's, the one with tomatoes and the name _Lovi _encased in hearts most likely Spain's. "Where am I going to sit?"

"Great. More issues with which to deal." Israel would have jumped if she wasn't used to people popping out of nowhere. (And, to be fair, England had entered through the door) America jumped, but failed to land on his feet. Which was why he was currently sitting on the floor, staring at his former father/brother with shock, curiosity, and… annoyance?

"How'd you get in?" America pouted, getting up and crossing his arms petulantly. "I locked the door."

"And I picked the lock, stupid Yank. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend or not?" England scowled, and walked over to the new girl himself. America didn't look like he'd be much use for anything, if his dazed expression at England's revelation was anything to go by. Honestly, did the boy honestly expect him to not have learnt _anything_ in the years he was alive? Sure, England wasn't Romano or anything, but he knew his way around a prison cell as well as any other bloke. "I'm England. You are?"

Israel turned around, tucking a stray piece of hair that had slipped out of her ponytail behind her ear. "Israel…" There was a brief moment of silence as the two countries stared at each other in recognition; then England broke out into a huge smirk.

"Jack! You bloody idiot, I thought you were killed in Tortuga!" England stepped forward and pulled Israel into a one armed hug, one she returned with a knife to his throat.

"You never did divide that heist from the Spanish ship fairly, _Captain Kirkland_." Israel flipped the knife back into the sleeve of her uniform, eyes filled with mischief. "And to think my Captain was the nation in disguise. I never would have guessed."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" America seemed confused, annoyed with the fact that he was confused (and also probably because Israel got away with holding a knife to England's throat), and generally less than happy with the situation in general.

"A few hundred years ago," Israel started, obviously not seeing America's disgruntled expression at a period of time equal to his lifespan being waved off like that, "I was wandering around, pretended I was a boy, and I was a member of Captain Kirkland's pirate crew. I faked my own death in Tortuga, made it look like I got knifed. I couldn't risk having him find out that I was a girl… Or a nation."

"You were a pirate?" America's voice raised slightly on the last word. "A pirate?"

"Yes," Israel chuckled, "incredible as it seems. Now, where am I sitting again?" After a few minutes of bickering and stupid suggestions (I am not sitting on the floor. Then you can sit in my lap! Everyone wants to sit in the hero's lap, because it means they're awesome like a hero! … Remind me how you managed to win wars with logic like that?), the culmination of which was a chair retrieved from the corner of the room, the chair Sealand was relegated to if he decided to come to a world conference and mess with the other *cough cough_ real_ cough cough* nations. Israel was seated between America and Canada, her two biggest (politically and physically (not_ that_ kind of physically, you perverts!)) allies.

The countries gradually began filing in (the door remained unlocked after England's rendering it useless), more than a few glancing curiously at Israel, then realizing who she was after seeing the Jewish star pendant she wore.

"Hey, Amy." Canada dropped into the chair next to her, holding his hands up at the glare she shot him. "Hey, the name fits, and-" he blinked, looking puzzled. "Your eyes. They're… not like they were." Ineloquent as he was, Canada was right. When he'd seen Israel before, her eyes were brown with small gold flecks, but now they were a dark shade of gray, although with the same golden sparks. "Why did your eyes change color?"

"They didn't change color," Israel sighed. "I wear contacts when I'm traveling with humans; my eye color doesn't look very natural."

"EVERYONE, SIT DOWN AND GET READY." Germany boomed, thumping his fist on the table for extra impact. The nations grumbled- he didn't have to yell, there hadn't even been any fistfights yet!

"Hey you guys!" America yelled as he stood up, grinning enthusiastically. "As ya might've noticed, we've got a newbie… well, new-ish newbie, 'cause she's actually really old, but she's never been to a meeting before-"

"And she still thinks she can do a better job of introducing herself than you can," Israel got out of her newly acquired seat as well, motioning to America that she could handle it. "I'm Israel. I sincerely hope I'll be able to get along well with all of you- but realistically, there's not a snowflake's chance in hell that that'll happen." Her remark was greeted by laughter; she'd made a good start. "I'm not out to get anyone, unless you're out to get me. I have opinions and don't mind voicing them- loudly, and whether anyone else cares or not." More laughter. "I can be a great friend, and I hope I won't have to show how bad of an enemy I can be.

And I really, really hope these meetings aren't as boring as I've been told." With that final remark, she sat back down, and was greeted by smiles (from basically everyone but Greece, who was asleep already)- and an odd look from Russia. But then again, since when was any look Russia gave _normal_?

Israel leaned back as America went through his Keynote- because, really, PowerPoint wasn't good enough anymore?- on how they needed to figure out a way to intravenously transfer McDonalds to the polar ice caps "because Micky D's is cool, so then they'd be too full of coolness to melt!", and observed the fellow nations.

"… Who's he?" She whispered to Canada- who could have sworn that she was _nervous_-, pointing at a man asleep, a cat playing with his odd double hair curl.

"Oh, him? That's Greece. He has an odd fascination with cats… _And Japan_…" Canada added under his breath. "Why him?" He looked over at Israel when she didn't answer, and was shocked. Canada prided himself on being able to read people (since most of the nations wore their hearts on their sleeves, it wasn't that hard), but he'd noticed that the only emotions Israel tended to openly show were… sarcasm, if that could be counted as an emotion, and anger. Anything else, you had to make assumptions from her voice and body language. But now, her eyes were a whirlpool of something Canada instinctively knew could only relate to one person. Rome. There was joy, disgust, confusion, heartbreak, and… _guilt?_ Why would she be feeling guilty? "Amy?" She blinked once, then shook her head slightly.

"It's nothing, Matt. Go back to paying attention to Gil."

Canada did as she told him, relenting to the albino poking his thigh. But he couldn't help but wondering why Israel felt _guilty_, of all things. His worry was cut short, and he wouldn't remember it for quite a while.

"You will listen to my idea, _da_?" Russia stood up and smiled brightly at America. "We've listened to your fattening plans, now, it should be someone else's turn, _da?_" He turned to Israel, and a wicked gleam lit his eyes to a nerve-wracking purple. Canada could tell (from years of dealing with the man) that he had something planned, something that would cause a fight and ultimately make Russia happy in the end.

"Amiel," he whispered hurriedly, "whatever he says, don't respond." And was treated to a look that screamed _whatever I choose to do, I'm a few thousand years older than you and most countries here, so I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions. But thanks for caring._

"I think we should give Rome's whore a chance to say something!" His smile got even bigger, until it was reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.

"What?" Israel's voice was scary enough to almost make Sealand wet his pants (he was hiding under the table, because someone stole his chair), and made chills run down almost all of the other nations' spines.

"I know my history," Russia kept smiling. "You were Rome's little-" he never got to finish the sentence, because Israel launched herself at him, horizontal in mid-air, foot aimed directly for his nose. Russia moved a hand up to catch the foot, but at the last possible second, Israel switched to her other foot, using all of her force and her foot connecting solidly with Russia's groin.

"I suppose the 'no fighting' rule is about to be broken again," someone muttered dryly, before Israel began pummeling Russia, who was flat on the floor. Her fists were moving to fast to be blocked, and a solid _thwack _was heard every time she landed a punch. Anytime she hit exposed skin (of which there wasn't a lot, because Russia dressed for his winters), bruises blossomed almost instantly.

"Получить от меня, сука!" Russia stood up and basically threw Israel off him, but to no avail. She came right back in a flurry of sharp kicks and punches, one hitting his hip, the next the side of his head. Arthur couldn't help but think that was like watching Fawkes fight the basilisk; except the basilisk was now being held back by a very angry Chinese man and Germany. (One restraint for each arm)

And the phoenix was held in a bear hug by an obnoxious American 'hero.'

"What the fuck, let me go!" Israel struggled; America had grabbed her from behind and then spun her around, crushing her to his chest, so she had no leverage and her feet were a good few inches off the ground. "I mean it, _let me __**go**_!"

"No can do, Amy, you're not supposed to fight!" America refused to release her, and walked back to their chairs. "I know the commie bastard can be annoying, hell, I'd like to punch him in the face too, but you have to ignore him!"

"What if someone called you England's whore?" Israel hissed, trying to make him understand.

"Well, that's not _true_, so I wouldn't mind it. I guess I can cut you some slack because his insults were sorta real…" America was a complete dumbass, Canada realized (for the seven hundreth something time), saying the one thing that could piss off Israel even further. She tilted her head back, then slammed her forehead into America's chin, the shock making him let her go.

"Bastard," she hissed, and made her way sullenly back to her seat. Israel sunk into the chair, carefully drilling holes in the arm of her chair with her pen. "Stupid fucking idiot…"

Canada sighed. It was barely fifteen minutes into the meeting. Dear lord…

* * *

Authoress' Random Ramble

_Fratello_- brother

Получить от меня, сука- get off of me, you bitch (I used a translator, don't blame me if it's bad ;_;)

… Yes. Amiel's pirate name was Jack. And they were in Tortuga… DON'T BLAME ME; I HAVE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN ON MY MIND. (And all three soundtracks on my iPod)

And I have nothing against Sealand.

… Sorry for the blatant HP reference. I couldn't resist (for non Pottards, Fawkes fighting the basilisk= phoenix fighting very large snake)

By the way, if anyone out there loves PruCan (you know you do!) try checking out Maple Syrup And Unrequited Love. It's an amazing fic!

Less than three. Less than three.


End file.
